


The 12 Pubs of Christmas

by rlwrites (braverybros)



Series: Candy Canes and Silver Lanes [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, F/M, Lots of it, again I am terrible at tagging so i apologize, i'll add more tags as I go as well, just pretend this much alcohol wouldn't kill them okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 35,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23607028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braverybros/pseuds/rlwrites
Summary: Okay, so here’s how it works.  We’re going to twelve pubs, starting here.  You have to have a drink at each pub, simple enough.  But each pub also comes with its own challenge.  You’ll see that on your card.”“The first one says to speak in a different accent,” Aliza says.“Right.  So you gotta pick an accent and you gotta stick with it until we leave here, got it?”  Niall’s slipped into a flawless Boston accent and it has everyone laughing.  “It starts now, yeah?  But the tricky part is if you fail the challenge, I get to pull my penalty card”—Niall whips out a yellow card—“and you have to do the penalty listed with each pub."12 Pubs.  12 Challenges.  12 Penalties. 1 Unforgettable Night.
Relationships: Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Candy Canes and Silver Lanes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699300
Kudos: 10





	1. The Nialler Card

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve started out pretty tame with this one.”
> 
> Everyone peers down at their cards.
> 
> **Pub # 1:** Speak in a different accent. _Penalty: Drain your pint in one go._

“I swear to God, Isa. To all that is holy and bright, this is gonna be the best night you’ve had this whole year.”

Isa snorts from where she is lounging across her best friend’s bed. She runs her fingers through her thick, dark hair, more concerned with her quest to find split ends than Aliza’s crusade to find the perfect pub crawl outfit. “Holy and bright my arse, Aliza.”

Aliza, who is elbow deep in her closet, clucks her tongue and continues to search through her extensive collection of clothes. “You just need to get into the holiday spirit.”

Isa shifts onto her elbow and quirks her eyebrow. “Al, you’re Jewish. You don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Yeah, so? Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy a pint. Or twelve.” Aliza winks.

Isa collapses back onto the bed with light laughter. She closes her eyes and sinks into her surroundings. The snap, snap, snap of Aliza’s hangars clicking together. Her occasional sound of contemplation. The bass and cymbal of some popular girl group song thumping low. Isabella sighs and spreads her arms out across the bed, relishing in the refreshing cool of the fluffy down duvet. It’s not that she’s physically tired, not really. It’s more of a mental exhaustion. She’s been worn down by weeks and weeks in a cubicle and now she’s off for the holidays and she couldn’t be happier for the break. She just needs to relax and be lazy and—

“My dearest Isabella, you just need to let loose, yeah? It’ll be good for you. Like my bubbe used to say, a night of libations and debauchery is good for the soul.”

This earns another snort from Isa. “I highly doubt she said that, Al.”

Aliza shrugs with a wicked grin before clapping her hands together and whoop in triumph. “She may not have said that, but she _did_ say to always look your best.” She pulls out a tiny, red dress. “Oh my god, you _have_ to wear this.”

Isa cracks an eye open and scoffs at the dress. “There’s no way my arse is fitting in that. Not if I want to keep my bits covered all night.”

Aliza frowns at her own bum. “True. ‘M always jealous of your gift.” Isa lets herself giggle and pushes herself up and off of the bed to take her own look through Aliza’s closet. For all of her feigned distaste, Isa is actually excited to go out. She hasn’t had a proper night out in a while and she’s glad to have an evening of fun with Aliza.

“Who’re we going with, by the way.” Isa sets aside a simple, black top with a white collar.

“Dani’s mates. And before you ask, yes, Niall Horan will be there. For all twelve pubs, I reckon. I asked specifically because I know you fancy him.”

Aliza’s hangers clack. “I…” Isa rolls her lips together and curses the tingling that’s bloomed in her stomach.

“Don’t bother denying it. It’s part of the reason I insisted you come with me tonight. You’ve been dancing ‘round each other long enough. It’s about bloody time something finally happened.”

Isa has to trap her lip between her teeth so that her smile isn’t embarrassingly eager. Isa met Niall and the rest of his mates three years prior when Aliza and her girlfriend Dani convinced her to join them for a night of pub trivia. Niall and his mates were on the team one table over and were quick to set themselves up as friendly rivals. The competition was epic, abundant with jeering and distractions and laughter. Neither of their teams won, but they gained a new circle of friends and had been chummy ever since.

“Timing’s just never been right.”

“And tonight?”

Isa gives into her full grin and runs her fingers over a pair of leather trousers. “Who knows.”

-

Aliza’s teeth chatter as they walk down the pavement to the first pub. Isa pulls Aliza’s arm closer and silently thanks herself for opting for leather trousers instead of the red dress. “It’s fucking cold as tits, Al. Whatever this game is, it better warm me up fast.”

“Oh trust me. It’ll warm you up fast enough.

“Explain it to me again.”

“Nah.” Aliza wrinkles her nose and reaches for the handle to the door. “I’ll let your loverboy do that. It was his idea, after all.” She ducks inside to avoid the slap Isa aims her way.

The inside of the pub is nondescript. It has the same sticky floors and loud chatter that most pubs have. The only distinct feature it boasts is the booming laugh from the booth in the back corner. Niall Horan’s head is tipped back and his eyes are squeezed shut as he laughs along with the group. It makes Isa defrost just a little quicker.

Isa walks a little taller to the booth, unwrapping her scarf and sliding out of her coat. Dani notices their approach first.

“It’s about bloody time you lot showed up!” Dani stands and reaches for Aliza. “Couldn’t start without my girlfriend, could we?”

“Yeah, cheers, Dani.” Isa sticks out her tongue, but then Dani is pulling her into a hug as well and she can’t help smiling along until someone quietly says her name.

“Isa.” Niall Horan’s eyes are bright as he beams up at her. Isa thinks he looks like sex on a stick and is pleased to see he’s gone with an all black ensemble, although it’s probably a danger in the long run because the enticing triangle of his chest that peeks through his undone buttons is surely going to distract her all night. “I’m glad you came.”

“Yeah? Me too.” Isa ducks her head, praying that her hair covers her blush. “I’d be kicking myself for the rest of my life if I missed out on your epic Twelve Pubs of Christmas.”

Niall’s grin somehow grows wider until someone crashes into his side.

“Oi, oi!” Louis, who is one of Niall’s louder friends, claps his hands together to get everyone’s attention. “Reckon everyone’s here now. Shall we begin? Niall, take it away, lad.”

Niall’s cheeks bloom as he reaches for something in his back pocket and Isa tries not to focus on the fact that it’s probably the loveliest shade of pink she’s ever seen.

“All right, listen up. Everyone take a card. This is the Nialler Card. It’s a list, painstakingly compiled by yours truly to ensure the maximum amount of merriment throughout the night.” Niall passes out notecards to the group. Harry, who is sitting on Niall’s other side, picks up a card and flaps it around.

“Aww, Nialler! You’ve even had them laminated. That’s really precious, mate.” He squawks as he dives and narrowly misses getting smacked by Niall’s hand. Isa swallows her giggle.

“Shut it, ya twat. Okay, so here’s how it works. We’re going to twelve pubs, starting here. You have to have a drink at each pub, simple enough. But each pub also comes with it’s own challenge. You’ll see that on your card.”

Everyone peers down at their cards. Just like Harry said, it’s been laminated, but it’s also typed up clearly in red and green ink and there’s even tiny hand-drawn pints in the top corners. It’s cute, Isa admits to herself. Really fucking cute, actually.

“The first one says speak in a different accent,” Aliza says.

“Right. So you gotta pick an accent and you gotta stick with it until we leave here, got it?” Niall’s slipped into a flawless Boston accent and it has everyone laughing. “It starts now, yeah? But the tricky part is if you fail the challenge, I get to pull my penalty card”—Niall whips out a yellow card—“and you have to do the penalty listed with each pub. I’ve started out pretty tame with this one.”

Everyone peers down at their cards.

**Pub # 1:** Speak in a different accent. _Penalty: Drain your pint in one go._

“Right. Any questions? No? Brilliant.” Niall slaps his hands to the table top and everyone begins to move to the bar. Isa takes a moment to find a place to pull up a chair and settle her scarf and coat and bag down. By the time she’s got everything settled, Niall is back and is handing her a pint.

“Oh, ehm. Thanks, Niall. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

Isa’s chest grows tight and it’s probably because she forgets to breath the moment Niall flashes her a wink and leans in close. He speaks low in her ear, his voice deep and heart and a shiver zips through her body. “Don’t forget the challenge, Isa. I should pull my penalty card on you, but I’ll let it slide just this once.”

The breath that she was holding before whooshes out of her lungs and she falls into nervous laughter to try and cover it. “Ehm…thanks, mate,” she replies and they both wince at her atrocious attempt at an Australian accent. Niall looks like he’s about to say something else, but then Louis and Dani are back and talking in obnoxiously loud Russian and French accents respectively.

Aliza is the last to arrive, pouting over her pint when she sees that she can’t sit next to Dani.

“Budge up, Horan,” she says in perfect Scouse. “Giz us a seat next t’ me lady, ye soft lad.”

Niall grumbles, but gets up anyway, letting Aliza slide in before squeezing himself into the last seat of the booth. But now he’s sitting right next to Isa and she flushes with nerves. She nearly tips her drink over when his knee brushes hers.

“Sorry. It’s a bit tight with all these people.”

Niall slowly stretches into a grin and Isa’s stomach bottoms out. His tongue peeks out to run along the corner of his mouth and he starts to chuckle. “I really didn’t want to have to do this,” he says, and then he’s whipping his yellow penalty card into the air. “Isabella Osorio Pérez, you have failed the challenge.”

After she finally tears her eyes away from Niall’s mouth, the blood drains from Isa’s face and rushes to her ears, making her heartbeat thump and thump and thump. Niall is right, she’d reverted completely back to her own Brummie accent without even realizing.

“Ah! Zis is, how you say, perfect!” Dani gestures wildly with her hand. “You must drink ze whole thing!”

Everyone is watching by now. Isa buries her face in her hands and shakes her head as they all begin to banter on in various accents. When she pulls her head back up, Niall is smiling softly at her. He shrugs as if to say sorry before nodding to her pint.

“Crikey, an ace way to start the night then, eh?” Isa sighs, returning to her terrible Aussie accent. She picks up her pint and begins to gulp, everyone cheering along until she slams the glass to the table and wipes her chin with the back of her hand. Harry claps a hand to her back and congratulates her in mildly impressive Irish.

When everyone begins to settle down, Isa feels a nudge at her elbow.

“That was…really shit,” Niall laughs.

Isa purses her lips and channels her inner bad bitch to make up for the fluttering in her stomach that comes from having Niall’s soft gaze all to herself. A man shouldn’t be able to do that with just his eyes, she thinks to herself, way too much power. So she raises her eyebrows to drive her point home. It must work because it has Niall’s eyes widening in alarm.

“No, I mean, I meant. The accent was shit. Not…the pint. I mean you swallowed that whole thing right down.”

Isa narrows her eyes at his innuendo even though she wants to choke out a laugh. Niall’s eyes widen even more when he realises.

“I mean…that’s not. I didn’t mean that. Shite.” In his panic, his words take on his Irish brogue again.

“Ah!” Isa reaches across the table for the penalty card. “For the record, I don’t mind a bit of innuendo.” Isa bites her lip and when Niall’s eyes follow the motion she has to squeeze her legs together. She says the next bit nice and slow. “Penalty, Niall Horan. Drink up, mate.”

Niall’s mouth drops open. It’s a cute look on him, this pleased surprise, and Isa decides she likes putting it there. With a wry smile, she files that information away for later. But for now, she gently pats his cheek and turns to see what Harry and Dani are talking about.

It doesn’t take much longer for everyone else to finish their pints, especially when Louis pulls the penalty card on Aliza, and soon enough they are paying their tabs and bundling up to head outside.

Isa is wrapping her scarf around her neck when Aliza sidles up to her and bumps her hip.

“Don’t think I didn’t see that.”

“See what?”

“Uh-huh. Play dumb, all you want. You two will be shagging before the night is over.”

Isa slides her laminated pub list across the table and takes another look at the list. “If I don’t pass out by then.”

She rubs her thumb over the little pint in the top right corner before she slides it into her pocket and follows Aliza out the door.


	2. Slap & Dash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pub #2:** Get a high five from everyone in the pub. _Penalty: Skull an Emerald Isle at the next pub._

**Part Two: Slap & Dash**

The air is still biting cold as the group makes their way to the second pub on their list. Isa is thankful for the heat in her cheeks that came from downing her drink. It’s making her feel light and giddy and a little more bold, which is definitely what she’s going to need in order to get through the night.

She’s got that extra bit of confidence that comes from the bottom of a pint and she’s starting to feel that amazing, electric energy that twists around her bones when she knows she looks good. The heels of her boots make her steps echo and it only feeds the power she feels every time she catches Niall glancing back at her from where he’s walking a few steps ahead.

Isa is starting to have a good feeling about the night. Big things are about to happen and she can’t wait to see what kind of trouble they’re going to get into before it happens.

Isa smiles down at her boots as Louis whines to Niall for the fifth time in three minutes. “Tell me again why we’re going to Aces, Nialler. It’s gonna be a bloody nightmare.”

“Needed a busy place for the next one, mate. Had to make it a bit harder.”

Aces is, by far, the most popular pub in the area. It’s big, it’s loud, and bodies are always plentiful. It’s a weird sort of eclectic place that draws people in with it’s Tracey Emin neon art and hipster-esque decor. Contrary to it’s look, the atmosphere inside is almost always chaotic. It’s practically impossible to be heard unless you’re sitting in someone’s lap and it’s the kind of place where people have gotten into physical fights in order to snag a table. It’s the perfect place for the second challenge on their list, or so Niall says.

**Pub #2:** Get a high five from everyone in the pub. _Penalty: Skull an Emerald Isle at the next pub._

The second Isa steps through the front door, she knows this challenge is going to be difficult. Although it’s not as packed as it normally is, there are still _a lot_ of people. It smells like beer and heat and people pressed together and mixing. When she looks around, she sees similar wide-eyed expressions of intimidation on everyone else and can’t help but laugh.

“This is gonna be impossible,” Harry mutters, echoing her thoughts.

Niall, however, is pleased as pudding and actually claps his hands together before spreading his arms wide and yelling, “Right then, hope you lot like gin!”

The group leaves Niall behind, Dani throwing him a particularly nasty side-eye and Louis pushing his palm directly into the center of Niall’s face. The face he makes is a little too adorable for Isa to handle with dignity so with a parting laugh, she pushes her way through people to the bar.

She is intent on ordering her own drink this time so as soon as she can make her way to the bartop she yells for the bartender.

“Pint of best, please!”

As she is waiting, a body squeezes in next to hers. “You come here often?”

Isa turns to find Niall grinning like an idiot and he must be contagious because seconds later her own mouth is twisting into a smile.

“I can’t believe you used the most unoriginal line in human history. That was…really shit.”

Niall’s eyes light up as they register the familiarity of her words and his laugh rumbles deep in his chest. He’s so close that Isa can almost feel his body shaking with his chuckle, which is incredibly distracting. Just like the little dimple that flashes when he smiles especially hard, and the fact that he smells like cedarwood, and also the fact that his lips are moving and she can’t even register what he’s saying.

“…talking about, it’s actually one of my best lines.”

“Oh, really? Pity the girls you use it on then?”

Isa nibbles on her lip as she contemplates her next move. She’s definitely not ready to admit that he was able to charm her with the dumbest line known to man and she’s definitely _definitely_ not ready to give him the upper hand. Niall is way too attractive when he’s smug and giving in to him without making him work for it would most likely fill his head with so much hot air it would burst. And really, it would be such a shame for something so beautiful to explode, so she swallows down the fizzy feeling in her throat and leans closer.

“Not. Even. Close,” she says, accentuating the last word by tapping the very tip of his nose. The best part is how cute he looks when he goes cross-eyed for that split-second tap. She turns back to face the bartop and is just about to tell him so when someone jostles Niall closer so that the front of his body is pressed entirely along her arm. He braces one arm on the bartop as his other palm smooths along her shoulder blades.

The smallest ’ _oop’_ slips out of his mouth and Isa feels her cheeks flush as his belt buckle brushes her hip.

“Would say sorry,” Niall says, “but you’re actually being quite mean to me so.”

This prompts a laugh straight from Isa’s belly, one that lasts until the barman sets her brimming pint down a few seconds later.

“You’re an idiot, Niall.” Isa takes a sip, smiling around the lip of her pint.

“Will you let this idiot pay for your drink?”

Isa licks the foam from her lip with deliberate indulgence before flicking her hair over her shoulder to lock eyes with Niall. His eyes are gorgeously blue and slightly unfocused, which is exactly what she was hoping for. It’s going to make the next part that much sweeter.

“Nope!” she says before flouncing away.

-

As Harry predicted, it is almost impossible to get a high five from everyone in the pub. After Isa leaves Niall at the bar, she wanders through the crowd for almost five minutes before she runs into Dani and Louis trying to explain what they needed to an already-pissed bachelorette party. The women finally agree, slapping palms with the three of them, but only after they bribe Louis to snog the chief bridesmaid.

Louis and Isa slowly make their way through the crowd. They figure out that the best strategy is for Louis to approach someone without preamble and hold up his as he shouts ‘ _Heeyyy!_ ’ Sometimes people are confused enough to play along, most are sloshed enough to return it with enthusiasm. Isa follows in behind him and soon enough they’ve gathered the attention of most of the pub’s occupants.

Isa feels exhilarated as she gulps her pint and slaps palms with stranger after stranger. It’s an incredible feeling to be excited alongside such a big group of people, intoxicated on the experience of shared joy just as much as they are on the liquid in their glasses. Louis is such an energetic and animated character that it’s easy to understand how he pulls people into his wake, trapping them in the drag of his essence. It leaves Isa grinning and shouting along with everyone else until her cheeks are sore.

Isa drains the last of her pint and leaves Louis—who is now deep in a philosophical conversation with two stoners about the phenomenon of high fives and their ability to connect strangers on a deeper level—to try to find Dani and Aliza. Instead, after she weaves through the crowd toward the bar, she finds Niall lounging across a stool with a lazy lilt to his mouth.

“You look like you can’t be arsed about this challenge, Niall. A bit odd considering you came up with the bloody thing.”

He lifts his shoulder in a nonchalant shrug and Isa hates how effortlessly cool he looks. It makes her want to rile him up again, to muss up his perfect quiff and bring the beautiful dusty pink back to his cheeks.

“Yeah, I’m not too bothered. I know everyone’s gonna fail it anyway. Plus, I like Emerald Isles, so I’m okay with taking the penalty.”

“You cheeky bastard! You’ve set us up for failure, haven’t you? Just want to get us good and pissed.”

Niall doesn’t answer, but the shit-eating smile that flashes all of his teeth spell it out clear enough.

“Don’t be so sure. I’m fairly confident that Louis and I have actually managed it.”

He takes a last sip of his pint and drops it to the bar. “And I’m fairly confident that you haven’t.”

His words stoke the fire brimming in Isa’s blood and she’s overcome with a sudden need to prove him wrong. Her eyes comb over the people swilling around the pub. She knows for certain she got a high five from the the couple trying to instagram the neon expletives on the far wall. She got more than one from the rugby team in the corner. She made her way through all of the people standing around the toilets. Yes, she’s made her way around the entire pub and has gotten a high five from everyone.

“Reckon everyone’s done with their pints?”

“I…I guess so, but—”

“Brilliant.” Niall pushes himself off of his stool and wraps his arm around her shoulders, leading her towards the front door. “Let’s gather everyone then, shall we?”

Isa lets him guide her through. She’s still trying to work out why Niall is so sure that she’s failed the challenge. She’s gotten the barman, the men in black suits and tiny earpieces, the group of teenagers who look like they’ve snuck in. Niall leads her almost to the door where everyone else has already congregated.

“Well, how did we do?” Niall looks fucking delighted when most of the group shakes their head in defeat. He reaches into his back pocket for the penalty card, but Isa turns around to take in one last scan of the pub.

She got a high five from the blonde that complimented her lipstick, she got one from each of the girls with rainbow sherbert coloured hair, she even got one from Louis and Harry and Dani and Aliza and—

“Niall,” Isa gasps, turning around. She’s too excited to register the way Niall’s head snaps to face hers. Or the fact that his arm is still in the air, frozen from when he was about to wave the penalty card. Or the fact that his pupils are dilated.

“Yeah? You all right?” His voice is unsteady and unsure.

Isa sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and takes two steps to his side. She slides her hand up his forearm and slips the yellow card from between his fingers.

“What are you on abo—”

His words halt in his throat when Isa slaps her palm to his in a high five.

“Now I’ve gotten everyone,” she says, before tucking the yellow card in his shirt pocket and disappearing through the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should be editing these as I repost, and yet I'm not. C'est la vie and all that. Let me know what you think!


	3. Baby It's Cold Outside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But then Harry is reading out the next challenge on the list and all of the bravado drains out of Isa along with any remaining blood in her cheeks.
> 
> **Pub #3:** Sing everything you say. _Penalty: You have to sing karaoke to whatever song is decided by the group._

Isa is dizzy off of the confidence she gains from outsmarting Niall in Aces. She can’t stop smiling to herself as she walks with her arm tucked in Dani’s towards the next pub. Especially when Louis tells her that everyone was too busy laughing at Niall’s dumbfounded face to high five him before they left the bar, so every single person except Isa has to take the penalty. Isa feels like she’s bigger than herself, like she’s walking taller and like her hair is bouncier as it swishes across her shoulders.

But then Harry is reading out the next challenge on the list and all of the bravado drains out of Isa along with any remaining blood in her cheeks.

**Pub #3:** Sing everything you say. _Penalty: You have to sing karaoke to whatever song is decided by the group._

The toe of Isa’s boot catches a crack in the pavement and she nearly breaks her ankle trying to maintain her balance. Dani snorts and asks if she’s alright, calling more attention to Isa’s blunder. At least it’s enough to bring the colour back into her cheeks. She tries to brush Dani off, but Aliza is watching her warily out of the corner of her eye. If anyone could understand why Isha is nervous about the next challenge it is Aliza, so Isa untangles herself from Dani’s grasp to lean into her best friend.

Aliza simply reaches for her hand and squeezes.

“I just won’t say anything the whole time. That’s it.” Even as she says it, Isa doesn’t believe herself.

“You won’t be able to do it. You know someone will catch on and make you talk. Or…well, you know”

“I won’t do it.”

The thing is, Isa is disastrously tone-deaf. There’s nothing pleasant about her singing voice. In fact, when Isa was younger and participating in her primary school’s production of The Wizard of Oz, her choir teacher politely asked her to mime the songs. Of course, Isa is and never was one to roll over quietly, so ten-year-old Isa sang out loud and proud, only to end up crying when she watched the video recording of it later on. Isa has never sung in front of other people since.

Isa also knows for a fact that most of her friends have incredible karaoke voices, so, for them, a challenge involving singing will be a breeze. A beautiful, dreamy breeze that rustles through tree branches and lightly whispers through windchimes. They will sound incredible and Isa will only embarrass herself. The buzz from her pints doesn’t feel as potent as it did before. It’s definitely not enough to make her forget about her crippling self-consciousness; and with that, Isa starts to feel her chest tighten with anxiety.

The pub they enter is small and intimate, most of the space taken up by the bar and the small stage. Isa’s familiar with this place as she’s been dragged out to karaoke nights on occasion, however, she’s usually able to make it through the night just watching. Not to mention, she was able to talk normally. Suddenly, the space feels much more intimidating.

Isa lingers quietly in the back of the group while everyone else orders their drinks. Thankfully, she begins to relax bit by bit as she quietly watches everyone sing their orders to a very alarmed and puzzled bartender. She waits until everyone settles at a table in the center of the room—pints penalty Emerald Isles’ included.

She quietly asks the woman behind the bar for a pint. She knows she’s cheating, is the thing. She knows it, and she feels guilty for it, but she figures this small concession can be her reward for being the only one to pass the last challenge.

“Comin’ right up.” She grabs a glass and leans in conspiratorially as she starts to fill it with a dark, ruby stout. “Aren’t you s’posed to be singin’, love?”

Isa’s eyes are wide when she pulls them up from the bartop to the woman. “Please don’t say anything,” she whispers, “I’m rubbish at singing.”

“‘Course, love. Cross my heart.” The woman lets the drought settle and draws an ‘x’ across her heart. She fills the rest of the glass until the creamy head domes and slides the pint across the wood top to Isa. “And let’s make this on the house, yeah? A sorta ‘good luck’ to ya.” She pats Isa’s arm with a wink and moves further down the bar where another customer is beckoning.

Isa exhales in relief and feels another ounce of tension melt from her chest. She tries to remember the moment Niall figured out she beat him at his own game. The delighted surprise in his half-formed smile. The hint of heat in his gaze. How she felt her whole body buzzing with victory in that split second that they held eye contact. She tries to remember it and keep that feeling in her belly. Because the fire of competition is still burning, nestled right under her ribcage. She simply _has_ to beat Niall’s twelve pub challenge, no more cheating.

This challenge just requires more subtlety, is all. Isa smiles to herself and takes a sip of her beer before turning to join her friends at the table.

The only chair left is between Harry and Niall. Isa tries to slip in quietly, only humming when Harry greets her with a silky rendition of Adele’s ‘Hello’. Isa sips her beer quietly as people sing around her. Dani has this beautiful alto pitch, like blushing Rosé wine. Aliza is singing back to her in a smooth, rich tenor that makes Isa think of Irish single malt whiskey. Louis’ voice is like tequila, light and sharp with a certain roughness that still leaves you feeling warm. It’s unique and a little more timid than the usual bravado he boasts while speaking, but it’s nice and suits him well. Harry’s deep baritone is beautiful and smooth, just like a delicious Puerto Rican rum. And Niall’s…well, Niall’s voice is smoky and earthy and warm, like a sixteen year old Lagavulin Scotch. It makes Isa want to shiver.

Isa shakes herself out of her head. Any attempt at actual conversation is long gone as Niall and Harry burst into random songs, each more hilarious and suggestive than the last. Isa is glad for it though, because the boys are ridiculous and getting way too into it. She slides to the back of her chair and lets them sing over her, diverting attention away from the fact that she hasn’t said a word.

But then Niall’s chair is screeching across the floor as he scoots closer to her.

“Oh, Isa,” he croons, dragging out the second syllable. Isa hates that it makes goose pimples break out on her arms. “My little firecracker, you’ve lost your spark.”

Then he breaks out in a slow, gritty version of Katy Perry’s ‘Firework’ that leaves her laughing and burning at the same time. In between his chuckles, he looks at her expectantly.

“Sing, my angel. Sing for me!” Niall punctuates his words with a theatrical flourish of his arm. Isa bites her lip so that her giggle isn’t too embarrassing. With a twist in her stomach, she imagines Niall in a high collar and a luxurious velvet cape. With his hair slicked back, he’d be the dreamiest Phantom of the Opera she’s ever seen. Michael Crawford be damned.

Isa tries to ignore how pretty Niall’s eyes look up close, only a seat away, as she wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. But when she mimes locking her lips up and throwing the key over her shoulder, Niall leans in, and those big, beautiful blues get closer and fill with something mischievous. Very slowly, Niall turns Isa’s chair until she’s facing him. Isa’s toes curl in her boots and her knuckles turn white as her fingers tighten around her glass.

Niall’s eyes flick over her shoulder briefly before he stretches into a wicked grin. Behind her Harry starts to sing.

“Crazy on you. Crazy on you. Let me go crazy, crazy on you,” he sings into her ear, putting a gorgeous, whiny spin on Heart’s ‘Crazy on You’.

Then Niall is singing. “Hey pretty baby with the high heels on. You give me fever like I’ve never, ever known.” _Oh god_ , Isa thinks, _he’s singing Michael Jackson and it’s never sounded so good._ “You’re just a product of loveliness. I like the groove of your walk, your talk, your dress.”

Isa thinks about how she should normally feel uncomfortable with this, but strangely enough she isn’t. Maybe it’s the friendly smiles both boys are wearing, or the way Niall tilts his head as if to ask “ _Is this okay?_ ” Isa bites her lip and nods before she’s distracted by Harry singing Drake’s ‘Hold on We’re Going Home’.

“I got my eyes on you. You’re everything that I see. I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly. I can’t get over you. You left your mark on me. I want your hot love and emotion, endlessly.” Isa snorts, but can’t deny that Harry does it justice.

Niall takes over and Isa’s cheeks flame when she recognises that he’s singing ‘Whole Lotta Love’ by Led Zeppelin. “Way, way down inside. I’m gonna give you my love. I’m gonna give you every inch of my love. Gonna give you my love.”

Harry comes in with the next line. “Wanna whole lotta love.” Niall sings the guitar riff, sliding his fingers up an invisible fretboard. The image is obscene and hot and everything Isa didn’t know she needed. He does this after each of Harry’s repetitions of “Wanna whole lotta love.”

But then Niall is slipping off of his chair and sinking to his knees. His hands wrap around the back of her chair as sings.

“Way down inside. Woman, you need.” Niall draws out each word, keeping his eyes locked on Isa’s and by the time he sings the last word, Isa is practically shaking and completely transfixed. “Love.”

“Oh my god,” Isa rasps.

“Penalty!” Harry sings, “Isa has to do the penalty!”

Niall winks and the spell is broken. Isa suddenly becomes aware of the rest of the pub that fell away the second Niall fell to his knees. Her mouth drops open and she has to blink a few times, hard.

Harry is still chanting ‘penalty’ and the others have joined him, but Isa still sits and stares in complete shock. Niall, at least, is starting to look worried. One of his hands moves to her thigh, but not it a suggestive way. He squeezes just above her knee and murmurs, “You don’t have to if you really don’t want to.”

“Niall’s done it too!” Louis sing-songs with a maniacal grin. “Niall has to do the penalty!”

Isa turns her head to look at the rest of the group for the first time in what feels like an eternity. Aliza is watching her with a stunned expression and Dani joins in with Harry and Louis in their chant.

Isa’s chest begins to tighten again, her breaths start to come quicker. But then there is something big and warm and strong settling her down. Niall’s hand squeezes her knee once more. And this time, when she locks eyes with him, the tightness in her chest dissolves like candy floss in champagne.

Niall watches her carefully. When she snaps her jaw closed, takes a deep breath, and nods, he falls into a lopsided grin.

“You sure?”

She nods again and turns to the group. “Okay you twats, what do I have to sing then?”

Harry pulls Aliza, Dani, and Louis into a tight huddle to discuss. They look ridiculous, to be honest, and the wait is not ideal for Isa’s tenuous grasp on composure. As if he knows, Niall rises and dances his fingertips along her forearm. The reminder of his presence is enough to keep Isa from visibly squirming, although it’s not quite strong enough to dispel the flock of butterflies that have suddenly become very active in her stomach.

Harry whirls around and he’s got a grin so wide it makes his eyes crinkle, which can only mean bad things for Isa. She takes another deep breath to prepare herself.

“Since you’ve both failed, you’ll sing together,” Harry sings, dragging out the last word.

Dani and Aliza clear their throats. In a harmony that’s rather impressive, they sing, “Baby it’s cold outside.”

“Oh my god.” Isa can’t help repeat it again, only this time there is laughter colouring her words. Maybe she’s hysterical, maybe she’s still in shock, or maybe it’s the fact that Niall’s fingers are now wrapped comfortingly around her wrist, but she doesn’t feel scared anymore. She should feel panicky as hell, but she doesn’t. And that’s what has her skulling the rest of her pint and then marching towards the karaoke request table with Niall tottering along behind her.

“You’re positive you’re okay with this?” Niall asks again.

“Yes,” Isa laughs, “I don’t know how in the bloody hell I’m not freaking out right now, but I’m okay. I’ve got to do it, haven’t I?”

“No, Isa.” Niall’s fingers tighten. “You don’t.”

Isa smiles, one that’s sweet and soft. “I kinda want to now, though. God, I must be daft, but I kinda do.” She laughs to herself.

Niall laughs too and steps up to the table. “Okay then.”

“Just…” Isa nibbles on her lip. “Just, don’t laugh, okay? I really can’t sing like you.”

“No, yeah. I…” Niall scrubs a hand up and down the back of his head. “I would never.”

Niall gets the song sorted and when Isa takes a step up onto the stage, Harry, Louis, and the girls start to cheer. In an effort to calm her thumping heart, Isa flips them a ‘v’ and laughs, but she doesn’t feel truly settled until she can feel the heat of Niall’s body next to her.

The music starts and without much thought, she reaches out for Niall’s hand.

“I really can’t stay…” she starts. She feels jittery with nerves, but Niall is right there and he is singing straight at her and his voice makes her feel warm and safe and strong. Isa hardly realizes how fast the song goes by until she’s singing the last line and Niall effortlessly harmonizes with her. Her pulse is still thundering when Aliza and Dani begin to cheer. Harry’s whistle rings through the pub and Louis yells, “Oi, oi!”

Suddenly Isa is enveloped in warmth and cedarwood and lean muscle and _Niall_. It takes her a moment, but when she finally realizes what is happening, she wraps her arms around Niall’s waist to pull him tighter into their hug.

“You didn’t laugh,” she says.

“Promised, didn’t I?” Niall squeezes once more before pulling back. “You weren’t even bad, Isa.”

She laughs and playfully pushes his shoulder. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Okay, maybe you were a little flat.”

“Yeah, yeah. Stuff it, Horan.”


	4. Get Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Pub #4:** Switch an article of clothing with someone. Wear it until you’ve reached the next pub. _Penalty: You must walk to the next pub without an article of clothing._
> 
> “Right,” Harry says with a wicked smirk, “I’m gonna go get us all another round of pints.”
> 
> When he returns, Louis cheers and slaps the table, pulling Isa back out of her head.
> 
> It’s confusing, when she finally focuses back, because everyone around is starting to shuck off jumpers and scarves and coats. Isa looks to Niall In the hopes that he can help explain.
> 
> “You should give me your trousers,” Niall says, before he traps his bottom lip in between his teeth.

It’s unclear who thought of the idea first, but it’s universally decided that they are going to eat at the next pub. Isa knows it’s probably for the best from the way her head is floaty and sloshy and sometimes feels like it’s not part of her body anymore.

She thinks that it’s definitely the exhilaration of the events at the last pub that kicks her intoxication into full gear. She can blame the fact that she’s not being as careful with her glances or her touches on that. It’s because Niall pulled her head to his shoulder after she told him off on stage, because she now knows what it feels like when her cheek is pressed up against his chest while he’s laughing, because she has a sneaking suspicion that the brush of his lips against the crown of her head wasn’t as accidental as he played it off to be.

Regardless of the reason, Isa is now more determined than ever to see this pub crawl to the end, and she needs something in her stomach so that she doesn’t end the night hugging the toilet. It’s good then, that the next pub, Group Therapy, has some of the best fish and chips in town. Isa unknowingly tastes her lips just thinking about it.

When they get to Group Therapy, Isa is delighted to see that one of her oldest friends, Liam, and his girlfriend Alex, are waiting for them.

“Liam!” Isa is squealing and should be embarrassed by how annoying she probably sounds, but she can’t be assed to care. “What are you doing here?”

Liam gives her one of the warm, face-consuming smiles that he is known for and opens his arms for a hug. Their hugs are always collisions, all of Isa’s energy hurtling towards him in a tiny five foot three package, but Liam how to brace himself for them long ago. She flies towards him, her boots thundering along the pavement and her hair bouncing wildly around, and when they connect, her feet come off the ground and then Liam is twirling them. He gives her one last squeeze before setting her back down and reaching out to re-settle her coat on her shoulders.

“Al texted and invited us along. Hope that’s okay?” Liam’s forehead is scrunched up in that apologetic look he always gets when he’s being polite. Isa loves that look because it makes him look like he did when he was softer and less stubbly when they met in their chemistry lecture in uni.

“More the merrier, mate,” Niall says, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now let’s get inside. ‘M starvin’.”

They all crowd around a table and Isa is happy when Alex sits down next to her. Alex is small like Isa, the top of her blonde head barely reaching past Liam’s shoulders, but she’s loud like Louis and has a quick wit like Harry. The best of all is that she keeps up with Isa’s fire.

“Isabella, babe, you look stunning. If you don’t pull tonight, I’m goin’ home with ya.”

Isa huffs nervously as Niall sits down on her left side, their shoulders knocking accidentally when he tries to peel his coat off. She fights the urge to steal a glance at him, so she doesn’t see the secretive smile he wears, the one she hates that makes it seem like he knows something she doesn’t.

Niall makes an executive announcement that they are all required to drink one glass of water before the next challenge takes place. They order baskets of fish and chips and waters all around and while they wait for their meals, Isa shows Liam and Alex the Nialler card and explains the concept of Niall’s pub crawl.

“So, Niall.” Alex props her chin in her hand and slightly leans over Isa to smile at Niall. "You got a missus?”

“Alex!” Isa’s cheeks burn. She regrets thinking that Alex’s presence was going to be anything but troublesome.

“What? I’m just trying to get to know your friends! Is that so bad?” Alex’s words sound innocent, but the glint in her eye as she turns back to Niall is far from it. It makes Isa want to groan and smash her head into the table. "Well?“

"Erm…no. No girlfriend.”

“Why not?”

Isa kicks out, aiming for Alex’s shin but getting the leg of the table instead. The glasses shake and clink together, which makes Alex’s smile twist with glee. Liam is barely containing himself the fist he is pressing into his lips.

To Niall’s credit, he doesn’t seem phased. He just smiles right on back at Alex and says, “Never really been a boyfriend kinda guy.”

“Is that so. Hmm.”

Isa frowns into her chips. It’s not entirely new information as Niall hasn’t had a girlfriend the entire time she’s known him, but to actually hear the words come out of his mouth makes her intestines feel like they’re twisting in on themselves. Isa shoves chips into her mouth to get the sour taste out of it.

The thing is, Niall _isn’t_ a boyfriend kind of guy. Isa has always known this, but has never fully admitted it to herself. She’s gathered over the years that Niall likes easy, casual, no-strings-attached. He’s not a stranger to a one night hookup, or even a cheeky snog in the back hallway of a pub. Isa hates that she knows this—and not first hand like she wants—but she does.

So after the initial gut wrench, the information sits in the middle of Isa’s ribcage like an uncomfortable burden, making all of her muscles and organs feel squished and tight.

While Isa disappears into her head, Alex pushes on. "What would it take for you to change your mind?“

Niall’s eyes flick to his right, but Isa misses it because she’s too busy pouting into her basket and thinking about the time he’d come out of the toilet at Barney’s with a fresh purpling bruise right next to his adam’s apple. She also misses the brief flash of panic that crosses his face when Alex lights up and opens her mouth like she’s gonna point it out.

"Okay! How about we get this challenge underway!” Liam interjects before his girlfriend can inflict any more damage. Aliza clears her throat, pulls out her laminated card with a flourish, and starts to read.

**Pub #4:** Switch an article of clothing with someone. Wear it until you’ve reached the next pub. _Penalty: You must walk to the next pub without an article of clothing._

“Right,” Harry says with a wicked smirk, “I’m gonna go get us all another round of pints.”

When he returns, Louis cheers and slaps the table, pulling Isa back out of her head.

It’s confusing, when she finally focuses back, because everyone around is starting to shuck off jumpers and scarves and coats. Isa looks to Niall In the hopes that he can help explain.

“You should give me your trousers,” Niall says, before he traps his bottom lip in between his teeth.

Isa’s mouth drops open. To say she is stunned is an understatement, but the feeling that distracts Isa the most is the hot lick of lust that curls around her extremities. "¿Perdón?“

"Mmm. I like that.” Niall’s eyes have an enticing heat that makes Isa feel even hotter. "But save it for later, mi poco petardo. We’ve got a challenge.“

Isa has to ignore how much she enjoyed the way Spanish twisted itself around his tongue, and instead peeks quickly at her own Nialler Card, skimming the words until his statement finally registers.

She lifts an eyebrow, dragging her eyes over the tiny black jeans that cling to his legs. She takes her time, making a show of studying his cute little arse and scrawny little legs. "I’m not sure I’ll fit in yours, if I’m being honest.”

Niall only laughs and pulls Isa with him as he stands up. His hands spread out on her shoulders as he turns her around and leads her in the direction of the toilet. “Only one way to find out. Let’s get naked.”

Isa laughs because it’s the only thing she can do that won’t betray exactly how nervous she is. She knows he’s just being cheeky, but now she’s imagining Niall saying those same words under different circumstances. She knows her heart is pounding, her whole body feeling like it’s beating along with her heart. She just hopes that Niall can’t feel it through her collarbones.

Isa gets a knowing look from a passing girl on their way back to the toilet, which reminds her what it looks like her and Niall are about to do. Niall pushes her into the women’s toilet, which is a single, less-than-sanitary room. Isa is still trying to figure out if she’s disappointed or relieved that there are no stalls.

Niall gets to work removing his boots as soon as the door shuts. Isa decides that it’s easier to focus on doing the same than on the fact that she’s two heartbeats away from having a heart attack, so she keeps her eyes down and works on her shoelaces. Time passes in that fuzzy sped-up sort of way that it tends to do when she’s exhilarated. But soon enough, her boots are off and she has to start peeling off her leather trousers. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see that Niall’s trousers are in his hand, and when she steals a glance at him, his eyes are politely fixed on the ceiling. It’s enough to allow her to relax just a little bit.

“You surprise me, Niall Horan.”

Niall’s eyes flick to hers before darting back away. “Surprise you how?”

“Surprised you’re not taking this opportunity to leer like a creep.”

“I am not a creep, thank you very much.” He’s forgotten to look away now, though. His eyes are locked on Isa’s as she works on extricating her ankle from her trousers.

“Well, thanks. Is what I’m trying to say. Lesser men wouldn’t have been as considerate.”

“Yeah, well…don’t call me a saint just yet. I might have…accidentally peeked.”

Normally an admission like that would have made Isa feel uncomfortable, but there’s something in the heat and awe in Niall’s eyes that make Isa feel braver. Maybe she doesn’t mind his eyes on her after all. She snorts at the thought.

“Here.” She shoves her trousers at him, trying to forget the fact that Niall is 5 feet away in his pants and that if he ‘accidentally peeks’ again, he’ll get a nice view of her lacy, teal knickers.

Niall’s trousers are tight on her arse, which is exactly what she’d feared. She has to jump up and down to get them all the way around her generous bum, and although she manages to do the zip and button, it’s a tight fit. The worst part of it all is the adorable giggle Niall lets out as she does it. It’s something that is going to take far too long to forget.

“Your arse looks way better in these than mine does.”

When Isa looks up, Niall is frowning at his reflection in the mirror. He sticks his newly-leather-clad bum out and pulls at where the material is loose around his tiny, tiny hips.

“Aww, don’t worry Niall. Your arse is still cute in them.”

Her cheeks flame with embarrassment, making Isa feel like she’s got a burning fever.

“I…erm…I didn’t—”

“Thanks.” Niall is suddenly much closer, his voice soft and husky trailing across her skin and making her shiver.

Niall shimmies out of his black and white flannel, but stays close enough that Isa can feel his body warmth. And then he’s even closer, slipping the soft cotton over Isa’s shoulders and immersing her in cedarwood and heat. Niall’s eyes grow heavy, that sultry kind of droop that usually comes before something exciting. Isa’s heart no longer pounds in her chest; in fact, she swears it’s stopped altogether as he leans in closer.

“Thanks,” she whispers this time, eyes wide and wondering. Niall lifts his hand to support her chin, delicately tracing her bottom lip with his thumb. It’s almost too much for Isa. She thinks the anticipation of the moment is going to drive her mental. When Niall finally dips his head, she closes her eyes and waits for the press of his lips. Only they don’t come where she wants them, pressing tenderly to her cheek instead. When he pulls back, his eyes are just as cloudy as Isa’s and when he speaks, his voice is sinfully rough.

“I like you in my trousers, Isa.”

He grins quickly before grabbing her hand and pulling her back to the table. Niall is back to his idiot antics as he struts around the group. Louis is taking the piss out of him when Isa sinks back into her seat next to Alex, who is now clad in Liam’s Burberry trench coat.

“Okay, spill.”

Isa shakes her head, clearing out the fog that’s still lingering from that…whatever that was in the toilet.

“Eh?”

“What’s the deal. With you and Niall.”

“Nothing.”

“Cut the shit, Isa. ‘Nothing’ doesn’t just disappear into the toilet together for almost ten minutes.”

“I…I dunno what’s going on, Alex. I feel like something is happening, but I don’t know yet. We had a….something. Kinda.”

“Well, your ‘ _Something, Kinda_ ’ is adorable.”

Isa sighs and picks up her pint, sucking down a third of it and praying that she can make it through to the end of the night without burning down from the inside out. “It’s also going to kill me, I just know it.”


	5. Salt & Spit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yessir! Oi, you lot! Listen up! Time for the next challenge, yeah?”
> 
> Louis shakes his card and the _fwap fwap fwap_ gets everyone’s attention. He clears his throat and reads. Isa follows along on her own card.
> 
> **Pub #5:** Specialty shots as determined by the Shot Master (Tommo). _Penalty: Everyone has to do an FDS._
> 
> Aliza holds up a finger. “What the flying fuck is an FDS?”
> 
> Louis’ expression turns devilish. It makes Isa’s stomach feel funny and she’s positive that what he’s going to say next will not be good.
> 
> “My dear, an FDS is a Flaming Dragon Shot. And I’m just gonna say it now, because I’ll be ordering a round of them for us anyway, so regardless of whether or not you complete the challenge, we’ll all be doing the penalty shot.”

Isa rubs her palm over the denim on her hip once again. She does it because it’s the only way she can forget about the feeling of Niall’s thumb on her lip, about how much she’d wanted to pull it between her teeth and tease his fingertip with her tongue. She does it because it’s the only way she can forget how his lips felt on her cheek, about how badly she wants to know what they feel like on her neck, her chest, her—

But that train of thought is far too dangerous for her current state of mind so she pushes her hands down the sides of her thighs and traces patterns on her hip and tugs on the belt loops.

Wearing Niall’s trousers feels strangely intimate, especially since he told her he likes how she looks in them. When she tries to think about it, she struggles to describe how it all makes her feel. Every description she comes up with seems inadequate. It’s like her skin is made of restless lightning bugs, glowing and twinkling and buzzing. _Or_ like her body is no longer corporeal and and she’s two seconds from lifting off of the ground and floating away. _Or_ like she’s become the beautiful orange light that breaks through the trees when the sun is beginning to rise. _Or_ all of that. No, that’s still not right. Those analogies seem far too cliché and insufficient. What she feels is _more_. But she can’t say that out loud without sounding stupid. Whatever it is, she likes it and she likes the fact that Niall’s now sticking closer to her, and she likes the fact that he’s stealing glances and that he’s not even trying to be subtle anymore. She likes that the best. Likes that they’re giggling at each other like giddy little kids every time their hands accidentally brush against each other.

They’re halfway to the next pub when she runs her hand over the back pocket and feels something weird inside, something crinkly. Isa suddenly feels like she’s trespassing, but is insanely curious so she takes a hasty survey of the group to make sure she won’t get caught. Niall’s in the middle of a conversation with the boys about football, bonding in particular with Liam about how they don’t like Arsenal but do have an appreciation for Mesut Özil. Alex and Dani are discussing the new breakfast place that opened across the street from the local cinema, and Aliza has her face buried in her phone. It’s probably the best opportunity for Isa to peek, so she slides her hand deeper into the back pocket. As soon as her fingers grope the plastic wrapper, she knows exactly what it is.

The moment is shocking, like a full-body brain freeze.

A condom.

Isa whips her hand out of the pocket as if she’s been burned. It sends her bumping into Niall’s shoulder, and when he turns, he throws her a lopsided grin before pressing his hand in between her shoulder blades.

“Alright?”

“Y-yeah! Mmhmm.”

“Good.” He drops a wink, biting his bottom lip as he does, and turns back to listen to Louis talk about goalies. His hand drags down to her lower back before falling back to his side and even though Isa is wearing at least two layers, she can feel the path of his hand burning into her skin.

The discovery of the condom in his back pocket shouldn’t be as distressing as it is. She _knows_ that. It’s not even like Isa would object to its implications; in fact, she was rather looking forward to it, there’s no denying it. It’s just that…it reminds her of the kind of guy Niall is. She hates herself for thinking it, but he even said it himself earlier in the evening: he was more into hook-ups than relationships. And she doesn’t know why that’s affecting her so much. It’s absurd that she would forget it in the first place since Niall has never been shy about how he is with women. She’s never been fussed about it before, so why should she now?

But is that all Niall wants tonight? When he was getting ready to go out, did he slip the condom in his back pocket with the specific intention of pulling? And is it simply a coincidence that _she’s_ the one he seems to have set his sights on?

Isa likes to think that isn’t the case, she _wants_ to think that she’s different, special even. But that kind of thinking is so trite and she’s witnessed months upon months of evidence to the contrary. That’s exactly the type of guy Niall has always been and it’s _exactly_ the type of guy Niall probably still is. Which isn’t a problem, not really. He lives his life a certain way and she certainly can’t judge him for it. It’s just…the problem is that Isa isn’t sure that’s the way she wants her… _whatever_ she has with Niall to go. She’s still worrying her bottom lip over it all when they make it to the next pub.

Isa feels less on-edge as soon as she gets inside the doors of The Regrets of Tomorrow. True to it’s name, there have been many nights spent here where Isa and her friends have consumed enough drinks to have them groaning the next day.

Once upon a time, Louis worked behind the sturdy, scarred mahogany bar top, serving rowdy banter and drinks on the house. Even though he doesn’t work there anymore, they still come to The ROT—an unfortunate yet occasionally fitting acronym—for the excellent booze and special treatment.

Isa sinks down into her usual seat, wriggling out of her coat and casting a look around the room. The familiarity here is tinged with something uncomfortable now. It’s not significant enough for her to figure out what it means, or why it’s suddenly there, but it’s enough for her mind to start to wander as people mill around her.

She starts remembering things she doesn’t want to. When she looks at the bar, all she can see is that time last summer when she watched Niall chat up a tiny blonde. And when she glances back down at the table, all she can remember is how she’d averted her eyes down to play with her glass one night when she accidentally overheard Niall telling Harry about the girl he’d slept with the night before. It’s a little overwhelming, this sudden onslaught of memories. She hates it, hates the sour burning that’s beginning to crawl up the back of her throat. It’s a little foreign, this feeling, so she doesn’t quite know how to handle it, but it’s uncomfortable enough that she wants to be anywhere else right now. So she slips out of her chair and heads to the hallway where the loos are, furiously avoiding looking to the back corner where she once stumbled upon Niall snogging the soul out of some fit girl with shiny brown hair and long, long legs.

Air. That’s all she needs, right? That’s what she tells herself she needs. Isa stares at herself in the mirror, sucking in cold air through her nose and trying to figure out what brought this whole thing on. She’s never actually thought about it before, never fully realised how _much_ she pays attention to Niall, how much she actually likes him. It’s stupid. She shouldn’t care this much about him. He’s an idiot on his best days and he’s a terrible flirt and he drives her crazy. So bloody crazy. Liking him so much would be…well, it would be foolish.

But all it takes is one look at the helpless girl in the mirror for Isa to realise that she is, in fact, head-over-heels foolish for Niall. Simple as that.

The door opens and another woman walks past her to an open cubicle. She gives Isa a knowing look, the kind that is dripping with pity and says ‘ _been there, done that, sister_ ’. It stings. It only lasts for a second, but it’s long enough to cut deep and sharp in the way that another woman’s judgement always does. The belittling once-over has Isa’s blood boiling with anger and her spine stiffening with indignation. Isabella Osorio Pérez does not cry over boys in pub loos. She does _not_ sit idly by and watch everything she wants pass by in front of her. She takes what she wants, she makes it happen. And she’ll be damned if she doesn’t do the same thing tonight.

So Isa runs her fingers through her curls, rubs her red-stained lips together, and decides that when she gets back to the table, she’s going to make Niall forget about every other woman in the world.

Just as she reaches for the handle of the doorknob, a knock sounds from the other side. Which is…weird, considering the fact that it’s a multi-cubicle loo. When she opens the door, she finds Liam with his eyes on the ground and his hand on his neck.

“Hey Is, Niall asked me to give you these.” He holds out her neatly-folded leather trousers. “He figured it’d be better for everyone if he wasn’t walking around in just his pants. And then he told me to wink at you, but…I’m not gonna do that.”

Isa snorts at that but murmurs a quick thanks before turning back to the cubicles. She strips quickly so that she can’t memorise the feeling of Niall’s denim sliding down her skin. When she’s back in her own trousers and passing Niall’s jeans back to Liam, she smacks a dramatic kiss to his cheek— ‘ _Pass that along too. And you better do it Liam, I’ll know if you don’t._ ’—and walks back towards the table with a flip of her hair.  
  
Isa’s got her groove back and it makes her mouth twist with mischievous delight.  
  
She’s back in her seat, chatting with Louis when Niall and Liam come back. Louis is groaning about how The ROT has apparently ’ _gone to fuckin’ ruins_ ’ since he took his leave, a topic they both know is utter bollocks, but indulge in anyway. Niall looks flustered as he sits down—finally back in his rightful trousers—and Liam sinks into his seat with a lopsided grin and a wink sent Isa’s way. She wants to laugh because Liam has clearly passed along the kiss she sent and it’s made Niall a little dumb, but she manages to bite her tongue. Her focus is razor sharp now and she’s determined to rock the very foundation that Niall stands on.

“Y’know, Isa”—Louis fingers his hair out of his eyes—“this godforsaken dump is the birthplace of a legacy.”

“Is that so, Lou?” Louis sits two seats away with a fidgeting Niall between them, so Isa leans her elbows forward onto the table. It’s just so that she can hear Louis better…mainly. So if her just arm so happens to brush Niall’s then it’s merely a coincidence. That’s her excuse anyway. “Go on then, enlighten me.”

Isa can tell when Louis notices what little space there is between Isa and Niall’s body and his mouth spreads into a grin. Isa’s sure he’s caught on to her game and returns his smirk. Louis throws an arm over Niall’s shoulder, casually jostling him so that he shifts even closer to Isa, their thighs now pressed together under the table. At this point, Dani has returned to the table with a tray of lemon shots and insists that everyone takes one. ‘”Think of it as a warm-up for what’s to come,” she says. Louis continues as he grabs glasses for the three of them.

“A long, long time ago, our favourite little Irish lad here,” Louis begins, “stumbled into this bar one night with a broken heart.”

“I did no—”

“Uh-uh. I’m telling the story, mate.” Louis turns back to Isa, who is desperately trying to imagine what a heartbroken Niall would look like—she’s finding it frustratingly difficult.

“Like I was saying before I was so _rudely_ interrupted…Niall comes in and sits down right in front of me with that ‘ _my world is ending and I wanna forget all about it_ ’ look. So I helped him in the best way I knew how.”

“Let me guess. You”—Isa drags out the word—“made a crude joke and poured him a drink.”

Louis and Niall’s faces furrow in identical images of wonder and confusion. “Actually Is,” Niall laughs, “you’ve got it pretty spot on.”

“Yeah, except it wasn’t just a drink, was it, Nialler? No, it was three shots.” Louis gestures to their waiting glasses. “And they were—”

“The best shots I’ve ever had in my life,” Niall finishes. He pats Louis on the cheek with an amount of force that’s probably just shy of too hard and shifts in his chair. He’s further away now, so Isa can’t feel the length of his thigh against hers anymore, but a second later he rests his knee against hers. She has to hide her smile behind her hair.

“What kind of shots did you give him, Lou?”

Niall and Louis bust into laughter then, and Isa would probably melt at the sight of the two boys so warm and happy if she wasn’t so confused.

Louis finally chokes out, “You know what, I can’t even bloody remember, love. We were so pissed that night. Something with tequila though. That boy loves his tequila shots.”

When Isa levels a curious look at Niall, he just shrugs and scratches under his jaw. “Nope, can’t remember either. Just know they were damn good, whatever they were.”

“Cheers to that, mate!” The boys clink their glasses together and drink. Isa takes a moment now to study Niall. His face is screwed up in a typical post-shot expression, but he’s wearing a proper grin and joking with Lou about some inside joke and it’s just so lovely to witness. He’s one of those people whose face completely transforms when he’s got a sincere smile on. It’s big and genuine—the kind that pulls the same kind of smile from everyone around him. It’s so refreshing, Isa thinks, because there’s nothing behind it. No pretense, no sense of falsehood. It’s just pure and warm…and it awakes a stirring under Isa’s ribcage that is way too complicated to inspect.

“Ah. Well that explains everything, then.”

“Yeah, Tommo basically bullied me into including this on the list.” Niall turns in his chair to face her better. Isa smiles her extra sweet smile, the one that brings her dimples out, and leans ever-so-slightly closer. Over Niall’s shoulder, Louis rolls his eyes and sits back, clearly getting the message that he’s being kicked out of the conversation. When Niall continues, his voice is low and rumbly and has Isa’s heart thumping just a little faster. “So anything that happens here…is his fault.”

“Oh is that so?” She tilts her head so that her hair falls back over her shoulder.

“Well…” Niall leans in closer. His eyes flick to her newly exposed neck and it tingles as if something is actually tickling her skin. “Maybe not the good stuff.”

His breath fans across her cheek as he studies her face, the faint making Isa feel warm. Warm and reckless and flirty and all the things that make her feel like she’s left her body. She doesn’t care what his intentions are or may have been, not anymore. Not when she can smell him this close and his eyes are so blue and that secret little dimple of his has come out of hiding. She sucks in a breath when he looks down at her mouth.

“Oi oi oi, lad! Hold on.” Niall jerks back when Louis’ voice breaks through the haze surrounding them both, looking disoriented and lost, like he’s been dunked into cold water. A sense of accomplishment warms Isa’s cheeks. Although Louis’ interruption has the most inconvenient timing, it is gratifying to see Niall in such a state.

Louis is blathering on but Isa doesn’t manage to tune in until Niall pulls his gaze away from hers. “—supposed to happen after the shots alright! That’s the the whole bloody point of shots!”

Isa presses her lips together, letting them curve up and give the illusion of composure as she wills the jackhammering of her pulse to slow down. She clears her throat. “Another of your mottos, Tommo?”

Louis raises a brow. “Well, well, well. You better watch your back Nialler, I might have to challenge you for this one.”

She raises her eyebrow in turn. “If you think I’d let you two fight over me like bloody dogs over a bone, you’ve got another thing comin’.”

“No, you’re right,” Louis says. “You’d crush me yourself.”

Isa can’t help her escaping giggle. “Smart boy. Maybe you are worthy of my time.”

Niall glares at Louis, which fills Isa with equal parts of elation and guilt. It’s a little nice knowing that Niall is showing signs of jealousy because that must mean he’s…at least _interested_. If Isa stretches for it, she may even delude herself into thinking that Niall might care about her in a _friends who wanna hold hands and kiss each other all day_ kind of way. But she also feels a little bad that she’s teasing him like this. She has no feelings for Louis, beyond that of friendship, so it’s not entirely fair to Niall to lead him to believe she could. But it’s so, so easy.

“If you’re so smart, you can read the next challenge then,” Niall grumbles, gesturing to Louis’ Nialler card.

Seeing Niall turn grumpy is adorable and she decides she definitely likes it, but she should probably do something to make sure Niall knows her flirtations with Louis aren’t serious.

“Yessir! Oi, you lot! Listen up! Time for the next challenge, yeah?”

Louis shakes his card and the _fwap fwap fwap_ gets everyone’s attention. He clears his throat and reads. Isa follows along on her own card.

**Pub #5:** Specialty shots as determined by the Shot Master (Tommo). _Penalty: Everyone has to do an FDS._

Aliza holds up a finger. “What the flying fuck is an FDS?”

Louis’ expression turns devilish. It makes Isa’s stomach feel funny and she’s positive that what he’s going to say next will not be good.

“My dear, an FDS is a Flaming Dragon Shot. And I’m just gonna say it now, because I’ll be ordering a round of them for us anyway, so regardless of whether or not you complete the challenge, we’ll all be doing the penalty shot.”

Harry rubs his forehead. “That kind of defeats the purpose of the penalty then, doesn’t it? We could just do that shot and not do the one you give us?”

Louis pops his lip out in the most adorable pout, and Isa is at that point in the night where her filter likes to randomly shut on and off so she feels like she just might tell him. Only she reckons Louis would get pretty weird over a comment like that, not to mention it would only fuel Niall’s grumbling, so instead she just reached across Niall to gently pat his cheek. “Don’t worry, Lou. I’ll do your specialty shot _and_ the penalty.”

“That’s my girl!”

Isa’s next pat isn’t as soft and Louis winces as she tells him, “‘M not anyone’s girl.”

Not that she wouldn’t like to be. She’s hyper-aware of how close she is to Niall and how he’s sitting stiffly in his chair and how he hasn’t said anything since his possible flash of jealousy. She tries to imagine his brogue wrapping itself around the words, how it would make her legs feel like jelly to hear him say _my girl_ while he’s describing her.

She can’t imagine it. Not in the dramatic argotic way that Aliza uses ‘Oh, my god, I can’t even imagine’ for the most mundane situations. Nothing quite as trivial as that. Isa well and truly cannot create a sufficient enough image of it in her brain; although, it’s probably for the best because the anticipation of hearing it is consuming enough. Hearing the real deal would probably leave Isa talking in hyperboles for the rest of her life.

A nudge to her knee pulls her out of her head and back to the present. Niall is studying her with fascination, which makes her blush, but then he’s looking back over to Louis and Harry, who are arguing over what shot Liam should take.

Alex suggests an Anaconda shot while sending a crass wink in Liam’s direction, which leaves the whole table in fits and Liam doing his best impression of a tomato. Louis agrees and Liam actually gulps down the shot glass of Jack Daniels and Sambuca and everyone giggles the entire time.

Harry gets a Dirty Girl Scout Shot because of his penchant for peppermint schnapps. It’s a complicated little thing involving spoons and chocolate syrup and somehow Isa, Dani, and Alex are goaded by a very encouraging Louis to take it with Harry. They get their spoonfuls of chocolate syrup and schnapps shots ready, Isa’s mouth already watering. Aliza comes by, squeezing more syrup into their mouths to start. She _accidentally_ dribbles chocolate across Isa’s lower lip and down her chin, but based off of the way Niall shifts in his chair and the devious smirk Aliza is wearing, Isa has a feeling that clumsiness had nothing to do with it. So after Isa shoots the schnapps and swallows down the chocolate syrup in the spoon, she licks up the mess on her chin with a bit more spectacle than is entirely fair. Niall ends up ordering a pint and gulping down half of it like he’s suddenly dying of thirst.

Isa sits back and let’s the alcohol make her giggly. That’s the great thing about this particular challenge, Isa thinks. The rules are there, but they’re really just an excuse to drink more. They could refuse to do their shot and just do the penalty, but they won’t because they’re all having too much fun laughing at dumb shit and taking shots that aren’t theirs and hanging all over each other and losing their minds.

Isa glances at Niall through the veil of her hair and thinks about him and the night in general. He’s pretty brilliant at this sort of thing—bringing joy to people—he always has been. No matter where he goes, he manages to make the night fun and light. Even when the dead of winter has stripped the trees to their bones, Niall manages to make the atmosphere feel like the summer hols when they can get a little stupid and a little silly and their only responsibility the next day is sleeping in and ordering take-away.

Louis assigns Dani a Chocolate Cake shot, which has vodka and some sort of hazelnut liqueur and looks fucking delicious. Dani sputters because she’s never been good at taking shots without letting it sit on her tongue for too long and everyone laughs.

Isa is too busy lingering over her giggles with Aliza so she misses the way Niall starts arguing with Louis, trying and—if looks are anything to go by—failing to dissuade him something that is undoubtedly devious in nature.

“—you dare, ya fuckin’ twat.”

“Isa, darling.” Louis’ tone is saccharine and definitely not to be trusted.

Isa, with a laugh still trailing in her throat, turns to find that everyone else is fixated on her. They’re all wearing various expressions, but the most troubling of the lot is Niall’s and Louis’.

Niall looks mildly terrified, his eyes wide and apologetic. Louis, concerningly, is the complete opposite with a wicked, lopsided grin.

“What…” Isa says, regarding them with suspicion.

“Are you ready for your specialty shot, love? It’s a classic. Sure to excite.”

“Um…yeah, I guess so…”

“Louis, no. Don—” Niall tries.

“Brilliant. You’ll be doing a body shot off of my boy Niall here,” Louis says, squeezing the hand that is wrapped around Niall’s shoulder. Niall’s eyelids fall closed and Isa suspects that he’s trying very hard to keep his composure.

Isa can’t do anything except blink. The blood has drained from her face, making a hasty exit along with her wits. She’s sure she’s as pale as her skin allows which is quite the opposite of Niall who seems to have blushed all the way up to his hairline.

“Is…don’t listen to him, he’s a wanker, and you don’t have. I mean. What I mean is, if you don’t want. Like, you’ve already done one anyway so—”

“I’ll do it.”

“—really it’s not big…wait, what?”

“I’ll do it.” Her mouth curves gently and she grows more sure of herself by the second. It slipped out of her mouth while the idea was still hatching, but the way Niall’s pupils grew after she said it makes her bold enough to stick with it.

“You…” Niall clears his throat. “Are you sure?”

“Positive. Tequila, please.”

And, of course, things get a bit mad after that. Louis starts yelling and Alex and Dani soon join in. Harry nearly faceplants in his haste to get to the bar. Liam is trying to calm down his girlfriend who is starting to try to get the whole pub to cheer with them. Aliza watches the whole thing quietly with her lips pressed together.

But Isa doesn’t notice any of it because she’s still smiling at Niall, who has suddenly gone all twitchy.

She’s enjoying this, ruffling his feathers and making him _work_ to keep his breathing even. Niall has always seemed so confident and collected, so at ease with any situation he’s faced with. Isa’s realizing that although it was his cocky composure that first attracted her to him, it is his unravelling that is far more alluring now.

Harry returns with a tray of amber-filled shot glasses and limes. Louis is still being obnoxiously loud, banging on about how to do the shot. “Easy peasy! Salt on the neck, shot down the throat, the lime from Niall’s mouth. Cheeky cheeky.” Isa’s grateful for it because it makes her laugh and distracts her from feeling like she’s going to be sick all over her shoes. She gets up, pulling her trousers up and dragging in a deep breath before she faces Niall.

He’s looking at her, his head tipped back and his expression painted with something that could be wonder. It makes her feel strong and powerful and possibly the happiest she’s ever been.

Yeah, she definitely wants to make sure she has as many opportunities as possible to make Niall look like this.

She takes a moment to think about the logistics of what she’s about to do. Niall’s still got his legs tucked under the table, which will make the actual body shot a little awkward.

“Here, would you…” She reaches between his legs, grabbing onto the seat of his chair and pulling. The chair doesn’t budge when she does, but Niall soon gets the idea.

“Oh, uh…yeah,” he says, pushing away from the table. The chair scrapes across the ground until he’s facing her.

“Better?” he asks. His accent is thick and his voice gets rumbly in a way that sends a rush of heat right to Isa’s core.

She hums and tilts her head to study him. It’s still going to be a little awkward to bend down over him so that she can lick the salt off of his neck, unless…

Niall eyes her wearily when her smile grows, but she just can’t help it. Niall has no idea what’s about to hit him and she does. She feels more intoxicated by the feeling of power coursing through her system than by any of the booze she’s had tonight.

She can feel everyone’s eyes on her as she steps close to Niall’s side but she’s confident enough to not feel self-conscious about it. There’s something in the way Niall’s fingers keep twitching against his thigh, or the knowing look Louis is wearing, that makes it feel Important with a capital ‘I’. Isa feeds on it like it’s sustenance.

She takes one last deep breath before placing a hand on Niall’s shoulder for support and swinging a leg over his lap. Behind her, someone chokes on a drink. Isa settles herself over his thighs, trapping her lip between her teeth when Niall swears. It’s actually quite cute how flustered he’s getting, how ruddy his cheeks have grown and how his breathing has become strained. Cute and very, very exciting.

A bit of his hair has fallen across his forehead and Isa pushes it back tenderly. “Mmm. Much better.”

“ _Christ_ , woman.” He says it softly, and Isa’s not even sure he intended for her to hear it, but it makes her giggle nonetheless.

Niall seems to have gained his wits back because he narrows his eyes and makes a noise similar to a growl. “You’re trying to destroy me on purpose.”

“Yep. Is it working?”

“You know perfectly well that it is.”

“Good.” Isa reaches over to grab the salt shaker, delighting in the grunt that Niall lets slip out.

“I, uh.” He clears his throat again. “I’m having a hard time figuring out where to put my hands.”

“What?”

“My hands.” He holds them up, palms facing her, and wiggles his fingers in some nervous, pseudo-jazz hand. Niall screws his face up and chuckles and Isa’s thankful for the break in tension. It allows her to relax and momentarily forget about the fact that she’s currently straddling the man she’s been crushing on for ages. She’s not so dangerously close to losing her nerve.

“Quite the gentleman after all, Mr. Horan. I’m impressed. I’ll leave it up to you.”

The breath he lets out is shaky, which is nice, but when his palms spread over her thighs, Isa is the one struggling for even exhalation. In a moment of weakness, Isa entertains the idea of bringing up the condom that sits in Niall’s back pocket. She could slide her hand down his back and into his jeans and pull it out, ask him about it. But it’s the momentary slip in her confidence that keeps her mouth shut. She’s using up almost all of her courage just sitting on his lap without whimpering, so that particular conversation will need to happen later. As for the moment at hand, she’s got a job to do. She shifts her hips once more and when his fingers dig into her legs, she knows she’s leveled the playing field.

“Right then, shall we?”

Niall doesn’t say anything, just gulps and nods his head. Isa shakes her hair back and leans in.

She loves his eyes this close. Of course, she’s always thought that he had beautiful yes, but there’s nothing quite like seeing them a breath-width away. It’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, she thinks. Isa leans forward to lick up his neck, nice and slow, and she gets a twisted thrill as her tongue drags over his five o’clock shadow.

_No_ , she thinks after she pulls back and sprinkles salt over his saliva-slicked skin. _No, his eyes now_ —unfocused, a little wild, and fixated solely on her—that’s the prettiest thing she’s ever seen _._

“You really are going to kill me, Is.”

Isa grabs the shot glass of tequila, throws him the super sweet smile that pulls out her dimples and says, “That’s the plan,” before holding up a lime and tapping his chin.

Niall takes the lime between his teeth. At first, it messes with Isa’s concentration because she’s always had a thing for Niall’s teeth. She knows it’s weird, she knows, but she can’t help it. She has to pull herself together though, so she certainly doesn’t imagine his teeth nipping at her skin, or catching on her fingers, or biting back curses. Definitely not.

All that’s left to do is the actual body shot. Isa thinks that the air grows thicker, heavier, more humid. It isn’t uncomfortable or anything; in fact, Isa actually kind of loves the weight of it all, anchoring her here to this moment, to Niall, to his big, blue, wild eyes. It makes Isa feel like her skin is buzzing with an electric charge. It also makes her completely oblivious to Louis and Alex and Dani who are making crude jokes and goading them on. Neither of them notice that Aliza and Liam are whispering to each other about how they can’t believe something is finally happening, they miss the way Harry distractedly knocks over Niall’s pint in his haste to pull out his phone. They’re perfectly ignorant of the fact that they’re putting on a show for the few strangers that have begun to watch curiously. All that exists now, in this heavy, anticipatory bubble she’s in, is Niall and that little glass of tequila.

So Isa goes for it. The second her tongue returns to his skin, Niall sucks in a breath. Isa’s growing very fond of that response. She takes her time licking the salt off of his neck, although she knows the whole process is supposed to be fast. She makes sure she gets every last bit of salt before she tips the tequila into her mouth. Throwing her head back to open her throat, Isa swallows down the burn. When she leans forward to bite the lime, she makes sure that she holds Niall’s stare the entire time. It’s intense and hot, but then he goes a little cross-eyed watching her, which is just plain cute. Niall is just….really, really cute.

She can feel his hands sliding up her thighs. His palms smooth across her body, trailing fire along her skin as one hand settles low on her hip and the other pushes up and over her ribs. She keens further forward until their torsos are flush.

What she feels now is _interesting_ because Niall has always looked soft. His hair is usually fluffy and light and the skin around his eyes gets all crinkly when he laughs and there’s always that delicious little helping of pudge under his chin. But the only way Isa can describe how he feels underneath her now is _hard_.

His stomach is tensed and tight. His grip on her hip is edging towards the good kind of painful and his eyes have turned hard, almost as icy as the white-hot heat that unfurls deep within her. She brings her hands up to his cheeks to take the lime in her mouth, but then her bottom lip brushes his in something that isn’t quite a kiss and she accidentally bumps her nose against his and she feels everything. It’s impossibly hot. Comparisons are flashing through her head as she tries to make sense of what she’s feeling. The disgusting middle of a hot yoga class, the muggy peak of summer in Colombia. No, she scoffs, that’s far too tame. It’s like she’s a stone oven and her organs are the orangey-red coals that are burning her up from the inside.

The hand on her hip pulls her even closer still, making her jaw clench down on the lime that she’d completely forgotten about. Tangy citrus floods her taste buds, pulling her back from daydreams of toilet shags and reminding her that they are very, very public and _definitely_ not alone.

She pulls further back when the din of the pub finally breaks the balloon of heat surrounding them. Niall is wearing her favourite expression again, but she forces herself to look away before it convinces her to do something too outrageous. As if whatever just happened wasn’t outrageous enough.

The whole thing couldn’t have taken longer than fifteen seconds, but it feels like hours to Isa. Now that she’s been plunged back into reality, she feels like she’s still suspended in time. Her hands suddenly feel like lead, dropping down from his cheeks to his torso. When she feels his stomach muscles jumping under the soft cotton of his shirt, she snaps her hands back like she’s been burned.

“Oi oi, Isa! Well done, well done, love!” Louis comes around to rub a hand across her shoulders, which finally prompts Isa to shift off of Niall’s lap. His hands slide down her body as she stands which makes her knees embarrassingly unsteady. She really wants to meet his eyes, to decipher what he’s thinking and feeling and hopefully find that he’s just as affected by what just happened, but her body is revolting against her. Her face is still far too hot and she’s suddenly painfully aware that everyone else watching them and her self-consciousness flares up.

So she panics and does what she always does when she’s freaking out: she messes with her hair. Aiming for nonchalance, Isa tries to fluff her curls, ignoring the fact that they’re probably already big enough and she’s _probably_ doing more damage than repair since her fingers are so shaky. But it’s something to do, something she desperately needs until she fully composes herself.

_What the hell just happened?_ she thinks to herself. Something amazing and exciting and brilliant, to be sure. She feels like it’s awakened something—something born from the friction of pressed bodies and shared body heat and the mixing of breath. Something she’s quite eager to watch grow. It makes her want more.

Now.

Even if it’s something little, something that will tide her over until she can properly drag Niall away and ruin him for real. So she turns around to press a giddy kiss to his cheek, but before she can get anywhere close, Niall is scrambling up from his chair with a thunderous expression and fleeing to the back of the pub.

The sting of rejection that courses through her is nasty. She’s not even sure if it really qualifies as a rejection, but the anger on his face and the way she’s left blinking at his retreating back definitely doesn’t feel quite right.

It is torturously still for a few awkward beats, but then Louis claps his hands together and declares that it’s time for the group penalty and things burst back into action. Isa breathes a sigh of relief and sends Louis an appreciative smile and a ‘ _thank you_ ’. He merely nods before pushing his way back to the bar.

Something presses into her arm and when she turns, she finds Liam’s brown Bambi eyes regarding her carefully.

“You okay?”

“Yeah…uh. I think?”

“You look like Alex does when I get her a new box of Ferrero Rocher but tell her she can’t eat them all in one sitting.”

That manages to coax a smile from Isa, even if it is a confused one. “What the hell are you on about?”

Liam shrugs, bumping her shoulder with his own. “You look a bit lost, is all. Lost and sad.”

Isa smiles, but it doesn’t meet her eyes like it normally does. “And that’s how Alex is when she can’t gorge on chocolate?”

“Pretty much.”

“Ah.”

Liam pauses. “Seriously though. What’s wrong?”

Isa sighs and leans further into his arm. “Feel a bit rejected, if I’m honest. Like I’ve been dumped at the school dance.”

Liam snorts but then explains himself when Isa starts to glare. “All I’m saying is that you positively tortured him. Poor bloke is in the loo trying to pull himself back together, if you catch my meaning.”

“What?”

“You’re helpless,” he laughs. “He’s probably trying to talk down the massive stiffy you just gave him. Not really that much of a rejection, if you ask me.”

Isa sputters. _What?_ She starts to shake her head, intent on convincing Liam that he’s out of his damn mind when Louis comes back with another tray of shots. This time, they’re on fire.

Everyone begins to crowd around Louis, who is in the process of sliding the tray onto the table. Isa’s still half in her head, trying not to picture what Niall could be doing in the loo right now, when Harry misjudges how close he is to the table and properly trips into Louis. The entire tray tips over and spills across the table. Needless to say, every other thought promptly slips from Isa’s mind. All that’s left is _‘Fire!’_

It’s pandemonium. Everyone moves very fast to try to smother the flames which are now spreading across the spilled alcohol. It’s gotten ridiculously loud, various people shouting different things until the bartender comes to the rescue with a fire extinguisher.

There’s an eerie, silent stillness that settles once the fire is out. People stare in that _I can’t believe that just happened_ sort of way, too shocked to move. Until something strange and bizarre and almost unbelievable happens.

Someone starts to laugh.

It turns out to be Louis, which isn’t that much of a surprise, and it’s less of a laugh and more of a cackle. But it’s definitely him and definitely inappropriate.

The bartender, whose looks furious and crazed, is slowly growing purple.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Pub.”

“Oh, come on, Reg! It’s all out!”

“OUT, TOMLINSON! The rest of you lot as well! I will not have you burning down my business for a second time!”

They all spring into action again. Isa is getting a headache from the amount of times they’ve been spooked into furious motion tonight, but there’s no time to properly lament it. She snatches her coat and rushes through the tables to get to the front door. Behind her, she can hear Aliza whispering. “A second time? Bloody hell, Louis!”

“He’s being dramatic. It was only the loos and Niall and I got it out before there was really any structural damage.”

Isa freezes. A body slams into hers, hands wrapping around her biceps to steady them both. It’s Harry, she discovers, and he’s looking down at her like she’s gone mental.

“Niall,” she whispers.

Realization washes over his face. “I’ll go fetch him. You guys get out.”

Isa makes a noise of protest, but Harry is already halfway across the pub again and someone else starts tugging her out the front door.


	6. D'You Mind?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So that’s gonna be how it is, huh?_ He’s just gonna ignore her like a fucking coward instead of just _telling_ her that he doesn’t like her, that he’s not into her advances. _Fan-fucking-tastic_. That’s fine with her. He can fuck right off for all she cares!
> 
> Isa’s too busy fuming to really hear Liam read out the next challenge.
> 
> **Pub #6:** Talk someone into giving you their drink. _Penalty: Give a random person your number._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a/n: don’t accept drinks from strangers!! always make sure you either get it from a bartender or make it yourself!! i tried to make sure isa was still responsible, but just in case…DON’T TAKE DRINKS FROM STRANGERS!**

Since the opening of The Memories of Tonight less than a year ago, the establishment has been somewhat taboo for their particular little group. Reggie harbours an overt hostility for The MOT, as it’s more commonly called, and they’ve stayed away out of respect.

Until now.

It’s the next pub on the list and it’s conveniently across the street from The ROT so they are quick to disappear inside. Mostly because it wouldn’t necessarily be out of character for Reggie to come outside to scream or have them arrested or something. Reggie has a penchant for dramatics. It’s _normally_ a part of his charm, but is particularly worrying at the moment. You know, considering…well, everything.

Isa is too preoccupied with the shock coursing through her body to really register how weird it feels to finally be inside The MOT. She wants to ask why it’s even on the pub list, but then they’re settling down at a table and her focus is stolen by Niall’s impressively creative swearing. She takes the seat next to him, but Niall’s next words are directed towards Louis.

“What. The. Fuck!”

It creates an instant tension. Like a light-hungry moth, it flutters around all their heads, continually bashing headfirst into the bulbs of their nerves. Isa hates it.

“Shit, did you see Reggie’s face?” Louis says, snapping everyone out of the hesitance that is keeping them silent. He is the picture of precariously-contained glee, the same face that Isa’s nine year old cousin wore after he put a toad in their abuela’s suitcase last summer. It looks great on Louis.

She’s not sure who laughs first—it might have even been her—but within seconds they’re all giggling at the absurdity of what happened less than ten minutes before.

Everyone except Niall, that is.

“Seriously? I leave you arseholes alone for _one_ minute to— _one fucking minute_! And you try to burn down our favourite bloody pub!”

Dani snorts. “You mean Louis nearly burned down our favourite bloody pub.”

“Oi! Now wait a damn minute!” Louis holds up a finger and tries to reason through his grin. “I’m man enough to take responsibility for my cock-ups, but only if it’s actually my fault. If anyone here is to blame, it certainly isn’t _me_.” He swivels around to pin Harry with a look that he’s normally only on the receiving end of, one that says ‘ _what do you have to say for yourself?_ ’ Harry is putting up a valiant effort in pretending that he’s too engrossed in the menu to notice Louis’ raised eyebrow. He maintains his act of innocence even when Niall clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. Isa’s actually pretty impressed, if she’s being perfectly honest.

But then the table jolts, like maybe someone’s knee has just smashed into the bottom of it and seconds later Harry is glaring at Louis. Isa is willing to bet her favourite brick lippie that Harry’s going to have a bruise on his shin later.

“You _literally_ created the circumstances for this one, Lou. If it weren’t for your fucking flaming shot, we wouldn’t even be in this predicament.”

Louis’ previous expression turns hostile. He looks like he’s about to jump across the table and strangle Harry with his Tarzan hair. Overall, it’s kinda hilariously terrifying, but Isa doesn’t really like it on his face at all.

If she wasn’t already trying so hard to not laugh at the way Harry drunkenly slurred over ‘circumstances’ and ‘predicament’, she probably wouldn’t have laughed at the vein that’s suddenly slithered it’s way up Louis’ forehead. But, of course, because life is often an evil little bitch, she does laugh. And then she’s choking on it when Louis, Harry, and Niall all turn their death stares in her direction. With everything that’s already happened tonight, Isa isn’t ready to add homicide to the list—especially not hers, the blouse she has on is way too nice to be ruined by blood stains—so she jumps in with the voice she usually reserves for fussy babies or hissing cats.

“Okay. All right kids. Enough fighting. Niall…” Isa places a hand on his forearm but when she feels him flinch she draws it back like she’s been bitten. _There’s that hissing cat._ She clears her throat and pushes down the sting of hurt that’s bubbled up in the back of her throat. “Niall, do you want to go with Harry to get everyone a round? Before there’s any bloodshed?”

Niall grumbles again—it’s becoming a bad habit—but extricates himself from the table and storms to the bar anyway. Isa chews on her lip and watches him go. When she reaches out to cuff Louis on the back of the head, it doesn’t give her _nearly_ enough satisfaction—which is a bloody shame, but she doesn’t do it again like she really, _really_ wants to. She settles for chastising him instead. It’s one of her favourite forms of stress relief. “Louis, if you’re not careful, someone’s going to set _you_ on fire.”

Irritatingly, Louis only shrugs and goes on about how it’s ‘ _actually kinda wicked_ ’ that they are now all basically arsonists. In the thrill of everything, Isa hasn’t had time to process so she leans back in her seat and takes the opportunity to sort out the mess Niall has left in her head.

She watches him lean against the bar and ignore Harry. She can’t help thinking back on how they’d both looked spilling out of the front doors of The ROT. Harry looked like he always does—the perfect paradox of deliberate disorder, like he’s just rolled out of some sort of catastrophe of his own making. All in all, that’s not too far from the present truth.

But what really got her attention was Niall. He looked _wrecked_ , and not really in the best way. He had his wild eyes again, but instead of stoking the embers in her belly like they normally would, they make her skin run cold. Maybe it was the panicked way his eyes were darting around, or the visibly ragged breath he was dragging into his lungs.

It’s unsettling to think about it even now and it makes her shiver.

Niall turns his head, catching Isa’s attention once more. Harry is leaning in close to whisper something in his ear so she can see that his hair is still in disarray, a definite departure from the careful quiff he had earlier. It does little to help clear the swilling mess in her head. And then Niall is pulling back again. Isa would normally appreciate how unbelievable his back and shoulders look when he leans against the bar, especially with his soft, black cotton button up stretching tight over his muscles. In a totally non-objectified way, of course, she’s not completely creepy. But there’s something in the careful way he’s holding himself that makes her uncomfortable. Niall turns his head to look over his shoulder, almost as if he can feel the weight of her gaze etching her thoughts along his spine. She’s not surprised, really. Her thoughts are _heavy_. Their eyes lock for a fraction of a second before his head snaps back.

It’s the first time since he’s come out of the loo that they’ve shared a look without anyone else joining in. It makes her feel like he can barely stand to look at her and, frankly, it really fucking sucks. The burn in her throat rises up again.

Isa’s confused. She’s fucking _baffled_ by the hot and cold, push and pull thing that Niall is dragging her through and, frankly, she’s getting kinda pissed off about it. She hates being confused, especially about stupid shit like boys. She hates that this one is making her question herself so much. The fucking dick.

Harry is especially careful on their return, taking slow, steady steps, eyes glued to the tray of beer in his hands. He looks really determined not to spill it this time. Niall gets to the table first and Isa reaches for the tray in his hands, fully expecting him to sit back down next to her. But then he pulls the tray away and heads back around the table to Harry’s old seat. Isa’s booze soaked brain is just sluggish enough that she can’t hide her brown in time. Isa stares at him, waiting for the chance to cock her eyebrow, or tilt her head, or some other form of questioning look, _something_ to say ‘ _what the hell?!_ ’ But he keeps his head turned away. She tries the next best thing and chances a look at Harry, but that turns out to suck just as much. He seems equally puzzled, if not a little disappointed, but he just sighs and squeezes himself next to Isa.

“Sorry Is. I don’t—uh, sorry.” Isa has to look away from the pity in the sad pinch of Harry’s mouth. Just like in the toilet at The ROT, Isa feels a wash of shame melt down from the crown of her head.

But this time, it only makes her angry. Like, really fucking angry. Not as angry as the time someone shouted biphobic slurs at Dani, but way angrier that the time that asshole broke into her flat and knicked her laptop and telly. And that’s saying something. She glares at Niall, since it’s his fucking fault anyway. Not the robbery, of course, just this shitshow she’s had to sit through for the past hour. The bastard.

He’s working really hard to avoid her eyes, which only makes her fury grow. It’s turning into a pulsing, tar-thick glob of lava slowly encasing her heart, first setting it on fire and then cooling into a rigid, unbreachable rock. Isa is like an exploding volcano, or maybe more like the lava titan in the Disney version of _Hercules_. Yeah, that’s more like it.

_So that’s gonna be how it is, huh?_ He’s just gonna ignore her like a fucking coward instead of just _telling_ her that he doesn’t like her, that he’s not into her advances. _Fan-fucking-tastic_. That’s fine with her. He can fuck right off for all she cares!

Isa’s too busy fuming to really hear Liam read out the next challenge.

**Pub #6:** Talk someone into giving you their drink. _Penalty: Give a random person your number._

It takes some heavy nudging from Harry to pull Isa out of her scowl so she can actually read the card.

_It’s just as well_ , Isa thinks. The frustration simmering under her skin is making her weary enough of her present company that a new face might help her cool off.

Isa drains the rest of her stupid beer, and decides she’s not going to let this thing with Niall bother her anymore. If _he’s_ not going to put any decent effort forward, then there’s no reason she should. Fuck that. There’s plenty of other shit she can channel her energy into instead.

Isa hurries to the bar. Thankfully, none of her friends say anything about it. She finds an opening at the bar between a woman with awesome turquoise braids and a man with a leather jacket and she slides in before anyone else can beat her to it. The MOT isn’t overly busy, but bar space is prime real-estate in any pub and Isa’s not idiotic enough to pass it up.

It doesn’t take long for someone to notice that she’s glaring at the lacquered wood and shredding all the bar napkins within reaching distance.

“Well now. That’s not a look I like seeing at my pub. I hope it’s not one of my drinks that’s got you so sour.”

Isa’s frown softens when she recognizes Lea. “Nah. Not your drinks.”

“Hey! You’re one of Reggie’s regular kids, yeah?”

Isa nods.

“Bit of a surprise to see ya here.”

“I’m a bit surprised myself.”

Isa’s only ever been in The MOT once, back when it first opened and Reggie sent them over to ‘ _check out the competition_ ’. It’s a good enough pub, nothing particularly extraordinary about it, but it’s also not terrible enough to warrant Reggie’s ire. At first, Isa thought it might be the fact that The Memories of Tonight is a blatant play on The Regrets of Tomorrow, but after they came over, she began to suspect it had more to do with the woman who named it.

Lea is lovely, really, and Reggie shit talks her enough that Isa is almost positive that he’s suffered some fucked up relapse into primary schoolboy display of his crush. Isa always thought that was a fucking stupid ass way of showing you were into someone, but whatever. It’s not like her current tactics seem to be working any better. Either way, Lea has earned herself a spot on Isa’s good list because she actually seems interested when Isa explains the previous challenge and how they had to make a quick getaway from The ROT.

“Oh, don’t mind Reggie. He’s just a storm in a teacup.”

“I know that, sure. But how do you?” Isa’s mouth twists with the promise of a smile.

Lea clucks her tongue and flicks her wrist in dismissal, but Isa can still catch the slightest blush on the woman’s cheeks.

“Don’t you worry about that, honey. Tell me more about this pub thing you’re doing. What number are you on right now?”

“The sixth. Thank fucking Christ for my tolerance. Otherwise I’d have been arse over tits two pubs ago.”

A snort comes from Isa’s left. Lea lifts an eyebrow at her before Isa turns and finds that the man in the leather jacket has turned his laughing eyes to her as well. It pulls the smile right out of her.

He’s fucking spectacular. If she were a little more sober and maybe a little less angry at the world, she would find a way to wax poetic about his fucking eyelashes, or his unreal bone structure or his big, brown eyes, or _blah blah blah_. But she’s not. So she’ll settle with _really fucking beautiful_ even though it’s a horribly inadequate description. He may be a little too beautiful, in fact, but he tilts his head in that dangerously inviting way, so she thinks ‘ _why the hell not?!’_.

“Hi. I’m Isa.”

“Zayn.” The corner of his mouth twitches and somehow his smile turns into something that whispers of sweaty Soho clubs, or sneaking out late at night, or smothering clandestine moans with fingers, or other equally thrilling broken rules. She fucking loves it.

“Hi, Zayn. How are you tonight?”

“I’m better now. You all right?”

That brings her dimples out. “Yeah,” she says, licking her lips. “Better now.”

Lea clears her throat, which is good because the heat in Zayn’s eyes is about one second away from burning her up from the inside out. “Can I get you a drink, honey?”

“Hmm, I dunno.” Isa plays it perfectly. She chews on her bottom lip, makes a few noises of indecision, and looks at Zayn through her eyelashes. He shrugs and sips from his own bottle, so she leans in to inspect it. “What are you drinking?”

“Uh.” He tilts the label so that she can read it. “It’s Becks.”

Isa wants to wrinkle her nose. She usually doesn’t prefer German beer, not that there’s anything wrong with it, but she usually tends toward something darker. But, for the sake of competition and pride, she’s willing to overcome her pretensions.

“Oh? I’ve never had that. Does it taste good?”

“Here. Have mine.”

She smiles back, swallowing a sudden swelling of victory. It’s a fucking doddle, she’s got him. She makes sure she watches him take another sip first, because even though he’s pretty, he could still be a creep. But he seems okay so she flips her hair behind her shoulder and says, “You sure?” She deliberately pulls her lip through her teeth. Zayn nods, but eyes are focused on her mouth.

“Thanks Zayn. That’s so sweet of you.”

Zayn orders himself a new drink and the small talk is easy. They talk about his tattoos and the best drink to pair with schwarma and Isa is happy to find herself relaxing. Zayn is funny and nice and hot, in a distracting sorta way, and Isa is able to laugh freely. She feels a little weird about it, at first. She’s not strictly into him other than that initial pull of attraction. It also kinda sucks that she could never pursue Zayn like he probably deserves. But then she just shakes it back. It’s absurd to think that she can’t simply _talk_ to another man just because she’s so totally gone for someone else.

Zayn is in the middle of a story about uni skinny dipping when Isa feels something softly brush along her back.

“Isa.”

Her stomach clenches the second his brogue rolls over her shoulders. She hates that all it takes is one word out of Niall’s stupid mouth to make the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. It fucking sucks. So she ignores it because Zayn is still smiling at her like the darling he is and she doesn’t want to let go of the grudge she’s cultivating just yet.

She feels Niall’s heavy sigh more than she hears it. The shiver it sends down her spine only adds to her annoyance It’s a purely physical reaction, she tries to tell herself. Absolutely nothing else.

Niall taps her on the shoulder, and when he hisses her name again, she can’t ignore him any longer. She makes sure to hurl her worst glare over her shoulder at him.

“Oh. Hi.” She flicks her sweet, dimply smile at Zayn. “Zayn, this is my friend, Niall.”

She doesn’t necessarily mean to put extra emphasis on the word ‘friend’, but if that’s how it comes across, she’s not too bothered by it.

“Hey, mate,” Zayn says, holding his hand out for Niall to shake. Niall takes it, but only after a weird bro-ish stare down thing that, quite frankly, makes him look like a fucking moron. Zayn winces as they shake and Isa doesn’t even attempt subtlety when she rolls her eyes and scoffs at him. She swallows another mouthful of beer to keep her from saying something she’ll regret later. She’s at a point in her intoxication where she just doesn’t give a fuck anymore. It doesn’t succeed.

“We get it, Niall. You don’t have to act like a bleeding man child.”

At least she has the satisfaction of watching both boys sputter as she drinks the rest of what used to be Zayn’s beer. It doesn’t taste as bad when she just gulps.

“Uh…” Zayn looks appropriately uncomfortable, eyes darting between Isa and Niall, so she takes pity on him and breaks the silence.

“So, Niall, How are you doing on number six?”

The muscle at the hinge of Niall’s jaw jumps. Hard. It really can’t be good for his teeth, but it’s presence makes Isa want smile because she’s sick, twisted, and unashamed. She stops herself, because she’s not _cruel_ , but only barely.

“Still working on it,” he bites. He’s getting really great at that jaw-clench thing; it’s distracting.

“Oh? What a shame. Zayn’s just given me his beer. Isn’t that lovely?” Isa fails to tamp down the smugness in her smile.

Zayn leans forward then. “Sorry. Are you guys…” He gestures vaguely at the space between her and Niall. When she looks down she is suddenly aware of how small it’s become.

“No! Not at all! Just friends. Right, Niall?”

Isa only allows herself to peek at him from the corner of her eye, but it’s enough to see the torn expression on his face.

Finally he says, “Look, Is. Everyone’s getting ready to leave.”

“So soon?” Her lip pops out.

“Yes.” His eyes flick over her shoulder to Zayn. “So let’s go.”

“But you haven’t finished number six!”

Niall glowers. It’s the only way to describe how his face looks, which is hilarious. But it’s also unfortunate because he’s actually kind of cute when he’s acting like a grumpy baby. She can’t coo like she wants to because she’s got a grudge to maintain and she’s not embarrassing. She can’t afford thoughts like that.

Niall’s arm brushes her as he reaches for Zayn’s new beer.

“D’you mind?”

“Uh,” is all Zayn is able to manage before Niall tips the bottle up and proceeds to drain the whole lot of it.

The bottle clinks against the bar a bit louder than is appropriate when Niall is done with it, making Isa jump. His face is twisted in disgust. It really shouldn’t be attractive, but it is. “Ugh. Vile. Let’s go, Is.”

She wants to slap him, she really does. He doesn’t get to order her around. He doesn’t get to act all indifferent one second and territorial the next. She’s not a piece of land for idiot men to squabble over. She wants to swipe the intense heat right out of his eyes before it makes her completely forget about the fact that he’s a total git and she’s supposed to be mad at him. She is, for fucks sake! Really fucking mad.

But as she sucks in a deep breath through her nose, she decides that she’s going to be better than that. It would probably spoil her evening and she’s not ready for it to be over yet. Not to mention, asshole boys are really never worth the effort.

Then, over Niall’s shoulder, Isa catches a glimpse of everyone gathered near the front door.

She sinks further into her pout before turning to Zayn with her best puppy dog eyes.

“Hey, Zayn. I’ve got to go.” She hates that she can see his shoulders sag with disappointment. “But I’d like to give you my number, you know, if that’s something that you’d be interested in.” She hates that Zayn’s slow smile makes her feel guilty. She hates how Niall makes an impatient noise behind her. She hates, she hates, she hates.

“Oh,” Zayn says. “I mean, yeah. I’d def—yeah. I’d love that.”

She lied. She likes, she likes, she likes. “Wonderful.” Isa smiles, holding her hand out for his phone. “Thanks, Zayn. This was lovely.”

“Yeah. Me too. I mean, yeah. Yeah.” When she hands his phone back, she makes sure that her fingers brush his more than necessary. His smile grows, and, really, it’s kind of unfair because it’s such a pretty smile. It’s less unreal and godlike and more boyish and magnificent, and honestly it’s a lot to handle. It squeezes his eyes until they’re crinkly and it makes her think of summer. It’s a shame she has to leave it. So she leans forward to press a quick kiss to his stubbly cheek.

“Goodbye,” she says against his skin.

Isa slides out of her stool and weaves through the pub towards the front door. It doesn’t take long for Niall to tentatively rest his hand on her lower back and whisper low into her ear.

“You didn’t have to get his number, you know. You finished the challenge.”

Isa knocks his hand off of her back and stubbornly ignores the hollow feeling that settles over her once it’s gone. It’s the _principle_ that keeps her from pushing back into him again. Grudge maintenance is important.

“Yeah. I know,” Isa bites. “But Zayn was nice and I wanted to give it to him. Not that it’s any of your _shitting_ business.”

Niall falls silent then. It’s for the best, really. But she’s still frowning when she makes it to the rest of the group.

Dani is watching her with a look Isa knows to mean ‘ _you’re gonna tell me about this later_ ’ and Harry is definitely wearing his worried face, his eyes volleying back and forth between Niall and her. She wants to growl at him.

“You two okay?” Louis asks.

“Shut the fuck up, Lou,” Niall growls, pushing out the door.

Isa rolls her eyes and adopts a falsely bright tone. “Yeah. Just brilliant. Let’s go.”


	7. Establishing Dominance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ **Pub #7:** You can only drink with your non-dominant hand. _Penalty: If you get caught, take three gulps._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Niall is moderately ambidextrous, but for the sake of plot consistency, let’s just pretend that he’s completely left-handed. Also, let’s also pretend that these people have superhuman alcohol tolerance. Because this is a lot of booze and a lot of stupid decisions. So…be smart. Anyway, enjoy!

Isa hates that their next pub is Fitzpatrick’s. Like, _really_ fucking hates it. She tries to stop herself from glancing at the bar, at the third stool from the end— _her_ stool—but she fails, of course. Because she always does when it comes to that damned stool. Because her brain hates her and that fucking stool is always the first thing her gaze finds when she steps inside Fitzpatrick’s doors. She hates that it’s the very reason she’s floundering her way through the stupidest crush in human history.

“You’re Isabella right?” he had asked. His hair had been so brown back then, the roots of his wild and unruly bleached blonde hair really showing through. A lethal combination when paired with that stupid arrogant-boy grin he always wore—still wears, in fact— when he chats up girls. She’d been instantly charmed.

“Isabella Osorio Pérez,” she remembers saying. She’d shoved her hand out to him like the nerd she is but at least it made him laugh. There’s always been something so magical about being the cause of a really great laugh. And Niall Horan’s laugh is Really Great. Ever since then, Isa’s personal mission in life has been to be the reason he laughs.

“That’s quite a mouthful,” he said, charm dripping from his words.

“If I remember correctly, your mouth can handle it,” she’d said, surprising another laugh out of him.

Isa was a little surprised herself, in all honesty. It was a minor miracle that she pulled it off, especially on that particular night as Niall was decked out in this beautiful blue cotton tee and it was doing the greatest things for his eyes and he was being extra generous with his smiles. It was totally unfair. It’s a wonder Isa got _anything_ done that night. She may have been the perfect picture of suave confidence on the outside, but inside, her guts were goop.

“So that’s what you think of me, eh?” he said. When he ran his tongue along his bottom lip, it was hot, and a little obscene and, again, it was a minor miracle Isa hadn’t thrown her clothes at him right then and there.

“Naughty. I’m actually referring to how much you ran your mouth during that pub quiz. Your shit talk is quite impressive.”

“Ah.” Isa remembers being captivated by his throat as he’d swallowed some of his beer. It was…well, Isa’s not entirely proud of how much she objectified him that night. It’s something she’s still working on.

“Yeah, well it’s a bit of a necessity if you’re friends with Louis,” he’d finished.

“Let me guess, your mate with the Bieber hair?”

Another laugh from him, another flash of thrill in Isa’s extremities. She should have known back then, by the way her fingertips had tingled without so much as a touch, how gone she’d be for Niall James Horan.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s him. Sorry ‘bout…y’know.”

She’d waved him off with the hint of a smile. “Nah, you guys seemed fun.”

“We are fun.” He sent her another cheeky smile and Isa unknowingly never looked back.

Isa remembers every cursed detail of that night with vivid clarity, as much as she hates it. She’d never wanted to kiss someone else more and life, or fate, or whatever mumbo-jumbo Aliza chooses to preach about, doesn’t like to let her forget it. Yeah, full blown romance novel cheese type shit. It’s fucking awful.

She might have actually kissed him that night on the third stool of _Fitzpatrick’s_ , since she’d already been so bold, she really might have. But that’s when Harry showed up. And then Dan and Aliza came a minute or two later, and that big, overwhelming moment of recklessness was totally gone. Even though nothing happened, when Isa went home that night she was stupidly happy and naively hopeful.

It’s funny, three years later, when Isa glares at her stool, three from the end. If only she had known. Maybe she would have gone after Harry instead.

When they settle at a table, the air is thick with all the things they aren’t saying. The weight of it is heavy like a barely contained secret, impossible to ignore and making people anxious. Everyone else can feel it too and that’s probably the worst part. All the shit going on is annoying enough when it’s just Isa dealing with it. She absolutely _hates_ that it’s ruining everyone else’s night as well. They’re treating her like a volatile atom bomb on a bumpy road, on the brink of explosion, and Isa is bitter about it. Even if the analogy is maybe kind of accurate.

Regardless, the tension in the atmosphere is getting tiresome. It hangs there for a few weird seconds until Alex thankfully does her best to break it.

“Hey, why aren’t we having fun anymore?”

She’s never been great at subtlety.

Isa rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. Alex almost wavers, bless her, but pushes on. “Well, _I’m_ getting us more beer.”

She’s barely gone before Aliza takes over. “Okay, I think we _all_ know what’s going on.” She levels a look at Niall that is dripping with scrutiny.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he cuts. His tone is dry and leaves Isa grinding her teeth.

“Oh come off it.” This comes from Louis, whose eyeroll is almost audible. Isa loves him for it. “You’re being a wanker, mate. Give over.”

“I-”

Harry interjects, clearing his throat and reading off of his card:

“ **Pub #7:** You can only drink with your non-dominant hand. _Penalty: If you get caught, take three gulps._ ”

Sheepish as he reaches the end, Harry shrugs. “Sorry. Just figured we better move along.”

Liam, who is seated next to him, claps him on the back. “Thanks, mate.” A small, encouraging smile briefly twitches across Liam’s face, reminding Isa why she is so fond of him. She’ll have to hug him—but later, because he’s already turning back to the rest of the table. “Just what we need. A nice, easy challenge, yeah?”

Alex is back and passing pints around soon after.

“Good,” Aliza says, sipping from her glass. Just when Isa thinks she’s in the clear, Aliza puts on her This Means Business look—spine straight, shoulders back, the determination of Joan of Arc in her eyes. Isa has no doubt Aliza could easily inspire thousands to ride into battle for her. And that’s precisely why she’s nervous to be the direct subject of it.

“Now. You.” Aliza hones in on Niall, making unease grow thick in the back of Isa’s throat. “And _you_ ,” she says, her focus flicking back to Isa. “Go over to that empty booth and don’t come back until you’ve sorted your shit out. You’re killing the vibe.”

Niall’s entire face furrows. Literally, the entire thing. It’s pretty impressive, that he manages to morph so much of his face that he looks like an infuriating grumpy little boy. Or perhaps that’s just Isa’s anger talking.

She’s almost positive that a denial is about to trip it’s way out of his mouth—which is just…fucking typical—so she stands up fast enough that Dani has to reach out to stop her chair from toppling over. She wants everyone, but especially Niall, to know that she’s fucking. annoyed. So she makes a completely obvious noise in the back of her throat and rolls her eyes.

“Whatever, _mum_.” When she stomps over to the booth—yes, that’s right, she _stomps_ —she plops down, crosses her arms and legs and settles into the stormiest scowl she can manage like the petulant child she feels like being. She’s allowed to at this point, right?

A pint clonks down onto the table and Niall plops down seconds after.

“Well colour me surprised,” Isa drawls. A part of her–a deep, secret part–is relieved that he’s there, but she pushes it down in favour of the fury that’s clawing it’s way to the surface. It feels much more tangible and much more satisfying than the confusing, convoluted relief. So for now she’ll cling onto her desire to throw her drink in his face.

It’s awkward, at first. They sit there without saying anything. Isa doesn’t budge, despite the overwhelming desire to squirm. Niall sighs heavily a few times which makes Isa roll her eyes. They’re the annoying ones that obviously mean he wants someone to say something but he’s too chicken shit to do it first.

“You can passive aggressively sigh to your dumb hearts content, Niall. Hyperventilate for all I care. I’m way more patient than you,” she lies, “so you might as well get on with it.”

Niall glares. “Get on with what?”

“Don’t play stupid. It’s not a good look on you.”

“Everything looks good on me.”

Isa snorts. “Yeah, _okay_.”

Niall huffs and leans back in his chair, his arms crossed. The seconds toll on as Isa and Niall glare at each other in a tense mirrored image of each other. Isa knows that Niall won’t speak up first, he’s just as stubborn as she is. But she doesn’t want to spend all night staring at his stupid, beautiful face so she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.

“Come on, Niall. You owe me an apology.”

“For what?”

Isa scoffs, tossing her hair over her shoulder. When she locks eyes with Niall again, the genuine confusion she finds in the crease between his eyebrows only makes her rage more. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

“You were the one who got crazy all of the sudden. I–”

“Crazy? You call me crazy? _Chingate, hijo de tu puta madre. No me jodas._ I’ll show you crazy!” She slaps the table, muttering under her breath. “ _Pendejo_ –”

“Woah, woah. I came back from the bloody loo, to find out that we were being kicked out for nearly torching the place, mind you! And you were fucking pissed off at me for no reason!”

“ _Pura mierda_. There were plenty of reasons. I practically dry-humped you”—Niall makes a strangled noise, but Isa is already too fired up to notice—“and then you run away and pretend like I don’t exist! What the fuck even was that, Niall?”

There’s a heavy pause where Niall just blinks at her.

“What?”

“At least have the balls to tell me you’re not into it, _dios mío_.”

“No! That’s…” Niall tugs on the hair at the base of his neck. “Fuck, Isa.” He sighs again and, honestly, Isa’s so frustrated by him and his _stupid_ sighs that she almost reaches across the table to flick his giant, thick skull for it. But then, somewhere in the defeated hunch of his shoulders and the restlessness of his fingers, there is a timidness she’s not used to seeing on him. It’s weird.

“I’m sorry, Isabella.” He takes a gulp from his pint.

She pauses, narrowing her eyes. He seems genuine, she thinks, and _just_ tortured enough that it melts some of her resolve. Just enough of it that her brow smoothes and the grip on her glass isn’t white-knuckled anymore. But not enough that he doesn’t deserve shit for being annoying. With a quirk of her mouth, she says, “You’re using your left hand, Nialler. Drink up.”

Isa can see the realization the second it passes over his features. His eyebrow jumps and he’s got that funny little pinch in his mouth that usually means he’s trying to hid a smile. With a small laugh, Niall raises his glass in his left hand and takes three pulls.

“Anyway, look,” he says, “I know I was being a total dick, but–”

“Understatement,” Isa muses.

“Will you let me apologize? Jesus Christ.”

She lifts her glass in compliance, takes a sip.”

“Drink,” he counters, and sure enough, damn it all, she’s used her dominant hand.

“Shit.” She takes three sips.

The smile Niall was biting down before peeks through. “Is, I’m sorry, I really am. I don’t…” He rakes a hand through his hair again. “I don’t know why I was acting that way. It’s like…”

Niall shakes his head. “It’s like one of those fucking awful dreams where you watch everything turn to shit and you can’t stop any of it. I keep saying and doing all the wrong things. I guess…you just make me nervous. And I do stupid shit when I’m nervous. I-I know it’s no excuse, but–”

He swallows. Isa tries not to notice too much. “Sometimes it’s hard to think straight around you.”

She can’t help it, damn him. She softens even more.

“So…you admit that I was right?”

“Well, I dunno about being _right_ …” Niall trails off when he catches Isa’s glare, his cheeks pinking up. “But, yeah, I was wrong.”

Isa is doing a poor job of concealing her smile, she just knows it, and now it’s Niall’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Don’t look so smug about it, Is. It’s not a good look on you.”

He’s smirking now, which is annoyingly cute. Isa gives up and allows herself a closed-mouth smile. “Everything looks good on me.”

Niall bites his lip. “Yeah. That’s pretty true.”

Isa’s next breath is heavy. She isn’t quite sure whether or not she’s ready to fully forgive him but it’s only a matter of time. She’s got no chance when it comes to him. She has to admit it, he’s smooth as fuck. Her full smile unfurls before she can stop it.

Isa goes for another drink, but stops when Niall makes a noise and nods at her glass. She’s got it in her right hand, _again_ , and she can’t help the embarrassing giggle that escapes when she switches her glass into her left hand and drinks.

Isa watches him for a minute as his fingertips trace idle patterns in the condensation of his glass. It’s almost hypnotizing to watch and it’s made all the more interesting because it appears as if he’s not even conscious that he’s doing it. Instead, Isa’s surprised to find, he’s watching her.

It feels comfortable, this moment of silence and calm between them, where the very same silence had been tumultuous and charged before. Perhaps this is their eye of the storm.

Isa doesn’t want it to end. It has that important, _big_ feeling that some moments seem to have before you can understand why, before it’s significance is revealed. She can just _tell_ ; this will mean something to her later.

So she allows herself twelve extra seconds of settled peace.

“Niall,” she says softly, “You get why I got mad at you about how you were acting towards Zayn too, right?”

“Uh.” He scratches his jaw. “Kinda?”

Isa slides her pint out of the way and goes to reach for his forearm, though she freezes just before she makes contact with his skin. The stinging memory of when she tried it before makes her breath catch in her throat.

But then he smiles the softest of smiles and nudges his arm into her palm and the floodgates of relief release, surging and filling her chest until Isa feels like she’s going to wash away. It gives her the courage to continue.

“It’s important to me that you understand how demeaning it is to be treated like…I dunno, like you have some sort of claim over me. Like I’m a prize or something. Like all of my worth is based on the fact that I’m pretty or hot or whatever. I’ll never belong _to_ someone.” Isa takes a deep breath. “I–I’m worth more than that.”

Niall leans forward, earnest. “I know that, Is, I really do. I don’t even know what made me do it. Like I said, I was being a dick. I’m so sorry for that, for making you feel that way.”

“I’m not a _thing_ , Niall, I’m…I’m…”

“You’re Isabella Osorio Pérez.” His smile grows a fraction. “You’re _you_. I get it. And I wouldn’t ever want you to be anything different.

Isa finally grins back and it the ease and lightness between them feels like heaven. “Yeah.”

Niall’s lips tick upwards before he takes a sip of beer.

“Oh no, Niall.” Isa clucks her tongue to disguise her giddy delight. “Not again. You’ve got to drink now.”

“Ah, shit.”

It feels easy to laugh, now that they’ve put the ugliness behind them. And Isa loves that. Easy is nice and so is laughing with Niall.

“Thank you, Ni.”

“Yeah, ‘course, Is. Cheers.”

Isa clinks her glass against his and drinks, wincing when his smile turns wicked and she realizes she’s done it with her right hand.

“Drink,” he laughs.

“Damn you.” She takes her three sips.

“Hey, d’you think we can head back now? I feel like Harry’s gonna break his neck trying to snoop if we stay any longer.

Nearly all of their friends rush to appear nonchalant and unaware. Except, of course, Harry.

Isa can only laugh.

It’s funny, as she scans Fitzpatrick’s, how drastically different she feels now compared to how she felt when she stepped through the door.

“Yeah, we better go. I’m sure Aliza is going to explode with the effort it’s taking her to look like she’s not totally snooping.”

Isa and Niall laugh together when Aliza turns around with an indignant, “Hey!”

It feels good, after they’ve re-joined their friends, to lean into him and laugh again, but there is still this niggling of unease pumping around the cavities of her heart. She’s hesitant to sink too far into the relief that she’d cherished only moments before, if only for the fact that it feels way too fragile.

Later, when they’re elbow deep in a plot to get Reggie and Lea together, Isa finally recognizes that the tiny bit of black in her mood is disappointment. That although she and Niall have cleared away the animosity and misunderstanding, they still feel… _vague_. She’s not any closer to understanding what they are, or if she can even consider herself and Niall an abstract ‘ _they’_ to begin with. She’s still confused and that’s pretty sucky, but at least she doesn’t want to rip his hair out anymore.

“All I’m saying,” Dani slurs, “is that kidnapping could work! You’d be amazed how much shit you can get worked out being locked in the back of a lorry. Makes you real honest with yourself.”

Aliza pats Dani on the head, probably a little harder than normal, but that’s probably because she’s fucking drunk too. “Babe, I’m concerned about how much it feels like you’re speaking from personal experience.”

“I was a dumb kid in sixth form. That’s all”—she hiccups—“I’ll say.”

This earns another round of laughter from the group while Isa loses an internal battle not to glance at Niall.

She just can’t help but be endeared by how he’s fully consumed by his laughter, how he seems to be fully consumed by _everything_ he does. Her stomach doesn’t just flip, it performs a gymnastics floor routine in the pit of her torso. It’s incredibly distracting.

Niall is leaning across Isa with a lovely smile on his face to argue with Liam and Louis about the validity of someone’s penalty, when an unfamiliar voice calls his name.

“Niall?”

He tenses. It’s only because of her proximity that Isa knows; she can feel him freeze against her, she can hear how he sucks in a breath. But then he’s pulling back and they’re all turning to find a beautiful, blonde woman wearing a tentative smile.

“Thought that was you. Heard your laugh from all the way across the room.”

“Uh. Hi.”

A no-sunscreen-in-the-summer red suddenly burns across Niall’s cheeks and neck. Isa’s sure that if she pressed the back of her hand to his skin, she’d probably feel a flash of heat. It’s torturously intriguing.

The woman, whoever she is, looks like…bubblegum. If bubblegum were a person. She doesn’t seem quite real, in all of her apparent perfection, with a sweet little dimple to the left of her mouth and an overall warmth that makes Isa think of caramelized peaches. It’s like she’s straight out of a Disney movie.

Curiosity has Isa sitting up straighter as Niall squirms in his seat, but she only grows uneasy when Louis swears under his breath.

“Niall, how are you? Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long!” she says, and even her voice is sweet. Of course.

Niall clears his throat and Isa catches Louis and Harry’s shared glance of concern, but she can’t decipher what it means.

“Yeah, uh, it’s been…a while. Uh, shit.” He seems to finally remember where he is, casting a dazed look around. “Guys, this is my, uh…friend, Ryanne. Ry, these are my mates.”

Niall goes around introducing everyone and Ryanne nods after each one, smiling and being kind and all around fucking perfect, because _of-fucking-course_ she is. Isa is left slightly dazed.

“And you know Lou already.”

“Hey, Louis. So lovely to see you again.”

“Yeah, lovely,” Louis responds. There is absolutely no affection in his tone, but if Ryanne notices, she doesn’t let it show.

“Hey, Niall, do you think I could borrow you for a bit? I’d love a bit of a catch-up.”

“Uh.” Niall shifts again. “Yeah, sure.”

Isa is naturally curious and maybe only a little bit jealous to watch Niall walk away with her. Not in a gross way, because there’s just something about Ryanne that makes Isa think her personality must be as beautiful as she looks. It’s more like Isa’s jealous of the overwhelming sense of familiarity she saw when Ryanne smiled at Niall, at the way his hand fit around her elbow as they walked away, like it’s done it a million times before, like it was always meant to fit there. She’s never been able to see this from the outside, what Niall looks like around someone he well and truly likes, not really. Or used to like? Maybe still likes? Isa can’t pin it down just yet, but she can just _feel_ that there’s some history there.

Louis and Harry start hissing to each other as soon as the Niall and Ryanne are out of earshot. The boys’ heads are bent together, Louis’ hands flying wild.

Alex leans across Dani, who has taken to hunching forward over the table, her head buried in her crossed arms, the poor thing.

“What the hell is going on?”

Louis casts another worried peek in the direction Niall went before leaning in. “That’s Ryanne, Niall’s ex and crusher of souls.”

A frown etches it’s way onto Isa’s face. Nothing about Ryanne even remotely gives off a man-crusher vibe.

“Crusher of souls? Really?” Isa asks. “That girl looks like she could barely destroy a bug, let alone a man.”

“Yeah,” Harry stage-whispers, “we never really knew her, but Niall was a fucking disaster after they split, so…”

Isa continues to frown at her beer. It still doesn’t feel right, to make assumptions about this girl, but it’s interesting to think of Niall being so affected by someone. Admittedly, it’s almost impossible to picture Niall as a heartbroken disaster. Angry, yeah, sure she’s seen him like that. And of course, the happy, warm Niall is fresh in her memory.

But broken and hurting? She can’t conceptualize such a thing. It makes her uncomfortable so she takes a gulp or four, hoping to drown it out.

Aliza gives a shaky grin from where she’s now draped across Dani’s back. “Fuck you and your tolerance, Isa, we’re fading fast.”

Isa’s laugh rushes out of her chest, along with the tightness that was beginning to build. Intoxication aside, there’s a careful understanding in Aliza’s expression that tells Isa that she knows that Isa is freaking out. She’s thankful that Aliza knew exactly what to do to relieve the tension.

Isa downs a good portion of her beer until Niall returns. His smile does amazing things for his face but terrible things for her nerves. It’s a little shy and a little goofy, and the cutest shade of pink. How can something so pretty cause such havoc inside her head?

It takes a few breaths to pin down what she feels about the whole thing. It’s not really jealousy, which is pretty cool. Isa always hates how disrespectful jealousy feels. Not to mention is hard to hate a girl like Ryanne, who is so obviously perfect. No, this rock in her stomach feels more like the disappointment she felt earlier, probably because she is now more unsure about her and Niall than ever.

It’s clear that Niall feels something for Ryanne. Since Isa is a _good fucking person_ , she wouldn’t ever try to come between that. Actually, if she’s being completely honest with herself, the idea of starting something with someone who’s thinking about someone else sounds awful. It’s complicated enough just to _say_ it, let alone think about it for too long. To many someones. She’s fine with just herself. Totally. For the moment, anyway.

God, she’s definitely not drunk enough.

So Isa takes another gulp of beer and decides to focus on the fact that Niall isn’t ignoring her anymore and that’s good.

“Wrong hand, Is. Drink,” Niall says through a smirk.

Isa makes a frustrated noise that is the closest human equivalent of a growl. “Well, fuck me,” she mutters before she drains her beer—with her left hand this time, for fucks sake. Niall’s face looks funny when she’s done wiping the foam off of her lip, but then Harry’s slapping him on the back and asking if he’s okay.

Niall glances over his shoulder one last time, back in the direction Ryanne is, before smiling back at Harry. “Yeah, mate. ‘M grand.”

He drinks, with the wrong hand—god, they’re all so terrible at this challenge—and Isa calls him out on it. He rewards her with the best laugh she’s probably ever heard and swallows down the rest of his own beer.

“On to the next?”


	8. Hips Don't Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani pounds her fist on the table and reads from her card with a heavy tongue.
> 
> “ **Pub #8:** In the next 15 minutes, you must get someone (not a significant other) to dance with you for the entirety of a song. _Penalty: Dance on the bartop for at least 1 minute._
> 
> This is a good challenge, Isa thinks. She loves to dance, to feel the bass vibrate around her spine like she’s a part of the music. As she stands up to head into the crowd of twisting bodies, the buzz of her intoxication makes it ten times more intense. Stepping foot on the dance floor is like entering an alternate reality where everything moves a little slower, everything sounds more concentrated, everything feels more important– like she’s in some sort of fuschia-saturated movie montage, losing herself in some sort of out of body experience. That’s exactly what is happening. As her hips twist and her head falls back and her eyes fall shut, Isa becomes something else. Someone else.

Isa doesn’t know how they get to the next pub, or even what pub they’re in. All she knows is the warm pool of alcohol sloshing around in her body and the generally unsettling tension that hasn’t left the base of her neck.

It’s a good thing she finds herself sitting between Aliza and Alex when they get settled. It’s a good thing the music in this particular pub/club is loud. It’s a good thing her next pint is delivered into her hands not long after she sits down. Good, good, good.

Because she’s definitely not overthinking every damn thing that’s already happened this night.

Dani pounds her fist on the table and reads from her card with a heavy tongue.

“ **Pub #8:** In the next 15 minutes, you must get someone (not a significant other) to dance with you for the entirety of a song. _Penalty: Dance on the bartop for at least 1 minute._

This is a good challenge, Isa thinks. She loves to dance, to feel the bass vibrate around her spine like she’s a part of the music. As she stands up to head into the crowd of twisting bodies, the buzz of her intoxication makes it ten times more intense. Stepping foot on the dance floor is like entering an alternate reality where everything moves a little slower, everything sounds more concentrated, everything feels more important– like she’s in some sort of fuschia-saturated movie montage, losing herself in some sort of out of body experience. That’s exactly what is happening. As her hips twist and her head falls back and her eyes fall shut, Isa becomes something else. Someone else.

It’s freeing. It makes it easy to work her way into a group of dancers, to smile and let her arms float into the air as the music syncs up with the pumping, writhing electricity in her veins. She can be absolutely anyone in this moment, whoever she wants to be. So she becomes someone who doesn’t second guess. She doesn’t hesitate to let her eyes close, to start singing along with the song. She doesn’t freak out when she bumps into someone, or when she turns around to find that it’s Niall. She throws caution into the thick, humid atmosphere and lets herself shift closer as they dance and laugh and let the moment wholly consume them.

At first it’s stupid fun. They’re bumbling around to some awful dubstep remix of Jingle Bell Rock and it’s great to see Niall’s smile close-up again. _Everything_ is great. But then they start to dance closer and closer, closer still. He finds her hand to twirl her and never lets go. And then her back ends up pressed to his chest, his hands slide over her hips and settle low on her belly, and she can feel his hot breath wash down her neck. This is just plain stupid now, probably. But she lets it happen and she _likes it_.

She _really fucking likes it_.

This is their perfect movie moment. The climactic scene where everything is fitting together, everything starts to go right, the soundtrack swells–Isa’s sure of it. One of her hands ends up in his hair, the other entwining with his where it lays on her stomach. She can just make out the low gravel of his voice, humming along with the song, tickling her skin as his lips ghost along her neck. When his tongue teases across her pulse, she shivers.

This is where everything changes, it must be. This is beginning of their happily ever after.

But the thing with movie moments is that they _only happen in movies_. Isa should have known it wouldn’t stay so nice–reality rarely does. So that’s why it doesn’t even surprise her all that much when her eyes slide open and she sees Ryanne walk in the front door.

Just like that, she comes hurling back from whatever dreamland she’d been floating in. She’s now hyper-aware that her body is booze-heavy and sticky, her hair is plastered to her neck and she’s sure that it’s lost all its curl. As she watches Ryanne’s eyes search across the club–she obviously hasn’t seen them yet, thank _god_ –all Isa can think about is wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

From the way his hand tightens on her, Niall must have noticed her freeze up. He’s leaning closer, whispering her name and that’s definitely not good.

All her life, Isa’s been a fighter. She has never understood the fight or flight response because flight has just never seemed like a logical option. Running away only prolongs problems, she knows this, but there is something about god damned Niall Horan that makes her always run. She does exactly that–she books it the fuck out of there.

She’s small enough that she moves easier through the crowd than Niall does, which is good because it gives her enough time to sneak away to the bar and–when she sneaks a look over her shoulder–enough time for Ryanne to replace her as Niall’s dance partner.

Which is…

It’s fine. It definitely doesn’t make her feel any type of way or anything.

Because she is coping so well, Isa orders a shot and then then another. She doesn’t brood at all. She’s also the bloody Queen of England, while she’s at it.

She’s teasing the delicious edge of drunken delirium when Louis sidles up to her at the bar. Isa ignores his sidelong glance at her empty shot glasses in favor of shredding her napkin, mentally preparing for whatever ribbing she’s about to undergo.

Louis surprises her, however, when he rubs a hand over her back instead. “Times up, lass. You all right?”

The thunk of Isa’s head against the bar makes him wince. “Guess not…”

“I didn’t do it,” she grumbles into her arm.

“Aw, it’s okay, love. It’ll happen eventually.”

Isa turns her head, one eye peeking out of the fold of her arms.

“Yeah, but the time’s up.”

“Huh?”

Isa sits up fully, breaking out of her self-indulgent moment of wallowing.

“The challenge time is up for this pub, I’ve missed it.”

It takes a moment for the realization to pass over Louis’ face, only to be quickly replaced by something much sadder. “Oh, Isa…”

“It’s okay,” she responds, completely misattributing his pity. “Another shot and dancing on the bar will seem like nothing.”

A look passes over his face that Isa isn’t comfortable deciphering before he sighs. “Isa, maybe that’s not such a–” He cuts off when the venom in her glare hits home. “That sounds like a great idea…”

Isa nods once with finality before hailing the bartender. With one more shot in her stomach, she has enough courage–or possibly enough stupidity–to climb on top of the bar just as a remix of ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ starts to play.

Isa decidedly does _not_ look at Niall during her dance. She’s going to have fun, letting her hips sway and hit along with the aggressive bass beat. Alex joins her on the bar and she forgets all about the ocean blue eyes that seem to always call to her in a crowd.

Time passes in a strange movie montage way–both way faster and way slower than it normally should. The alcohol thrumming through her system has her body coming alive and Isa languishes in the warmth and freedom until it’s impossible to not smile. Letting her hair fly, Isa forgets entirely that this is meant to be a penalty. Now it’s good plain _fun_.

Because Isa is so immersed in the moment, she misses how Niall can’t take his eyes of of her. She misses the jeers from the crowd and she misses how Niall’s jaw grows tight in response. When some asshat decides it’s a good idea to make a grab for her, she doesn’t see Niall’s fist clench at his side, how it would have been swinging if not for the fact that Isa is already upending a jug of ale all over the idiot’s head. She’s too busy cursing at the man to see the smile that’s suddenly bloomed across Niall’s face, how it makes it all the way up to his eyes.

When the song ends and everyone cheers, Isa’s energy is fizzing up and bubbling over, too much for her tiny body. She takes a small bow in jest, laughing as she makes to climb down, only to find Niall waiting for her.

Isa’s stomach clenches, not altogether unpleasantly, as she takes in his outstretched hand and hops down. She braces for a judgemental comment that never comes. He just wants to make sure she’s okay. Which she is, of course. Other than the fact that the light buzzing under her skin has now intensified even further and it’s getting harder to concentrate. Especially when Niall doesn’t let go of her hand, just squeezes and gently pulls her back through the crowd towards their friends.

She’s doing mental gymnastics to try and sort it all out when he abruptly turns around, making her slam right into his chest. Blinking through her confusion, Isa doesn’t realize how close he actually is until he starts speaking, inches from her face.

“We’re okay, right?” His breath is war and distracting and she wants to taste it. “Before–”

“Before was nothing,” she cuts in, “It’s cool. We’re cool.”

“Okay, cool. Brilliant.” He smiles and Isa finds herself wanting to taste that too.

Which… _god_ she’s getting sick of this. Sick of the word _cool_ and _fine_ and sick of this _pattern_ they’ve found themselves in. Sick of having to assure each other that everything is okay between them only to walk into another one and find that it’s not. Sick of constantly feeling like she’s bouncing around like a pinball between frustration and infatuation with Niall. She’s stuck on those weird twisted Penrose steps, climbing and climbing and _climbing_ on to arrive back where she started. She wishes her head would just make it's fucking _mind_ already.

It doesn’t help that Niall drops her hand as soon as they make it back to their friends. And it _definitely_ doesn’t help that Ryanne was somehow invited to tag along to the next bar or that she hangs off Niall’s arm the whole way there–not that Isa notices.

(She totally does.)

She studies her shoes and tries to block out their voices, startling when Harry bumps his shoulder into hers. The sad press of his lips is like a knife to her gut.

But then she steals another glance at Niall and finds him smiling back at her. That one hurts the most.

Isa’s already having a hard enough time sorting out her _own_ thoughts, she can’t even begin to guess what Niall’s thinking. With helplessness deep in the pit of her stomach, Isa gives up on the hope that she’ll ever figure it out.


	9. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “All right, ya wankers, listen up. The next challenge is…god, I’m so pissed I can’t even remember.” His laugh is like warm duvets and fresh sheets and it’s torture. Isa makes an effort to look at _anything else_. The unfortunate thing is that she can still hear him grumbling and she can almost perfectly imagine what he looks like as he leans to pull the card out of his back pocket, his shirt pulling tight around his arms, his hair flopping forward into his eyes.
> 
> “All right, Tommo, fuck off, i’ve got it now. It's…
> 
> **Pub #9:** Get someone under the mistletoe. _Penalty: drink a shot of Rumple Minze.”_
> 
> Now Isa can’t help but look. Niall’s blushing, refusing to look at her, at _anyone_ , even after Ryanne spreads into a slow grin. All of the liquid in Isa’s stomach sours.

Isa is quiet when they get to the new pub. Thankfully it’s another of their favourites–a little cafe by day that serves drinks and has live music at night. It’s not technically a pub, but there are only so many places their group can come and go from without a earning ban for life at this level of intoxication. She doesn’t say much as she sits down, she just spins her ring around her thumb, the noise around her thick and muffled, until Liam checks in on her. She hates that it feels like a pattern now. She’s turning into _that_ sad, drunk friend. _Fuck_.

“All right, love?”

Isa gives him a tired smile. “No, yeah. I’m fine, just…thinking.”

Thinking is obviously a much less dramatic verb for the chaos that’s occurring in her head. She keeps getting flashes of the way Niall grinned at her when they first started dancing, of the way her name dripped from his mouth and down her neck, of the way his palms burned the skin over her hip bones, of how dark Niall’s eyes got after she danced on the bar, of the fire he’s been slowly stoking inside her all night.

“What are you having then?” Liam says, breaking her trance. _When did she get so sweaty?_

“I’m just gonna have water at this one, mate.”

Liam sinks down into the chair next to her, squeezes a warm palm around her forearm. “Yeah, probably best.”

Liam is the best kind of friend. He somehow knows exactly when Isa needs kind words, or a hug, a laugh, or just someone near, even if they don’t say anything at all. She leans into his side, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing.

“It’s not as bad as you think, Isa. I promise things will look up.” See? Liam, always knows.

She almost believes him, too. But that’s when Niall clears his throat.

“All right, ya wankers, listen up. The next challenge is…god, I’m so pissed I can’t even remember.” His laugh is like warm duvets and fresh sheets and it’s torture. Isa makes an effort to look at _anything else_. The unfortunate thing is that she can still hear him grumbling and she can almost perfectly imagine what he looks like as he leans to pull the card out of his back pocket, his shirt pulling tight around his arms, his hair flopping forward into his eyes.

“All right, Tommo, fuck off, i’ve got it now. It's…

**Pub #9:** Get someone under the mistletoe. _Penalty: drink a shot of Rumple Minze.”_

Now Isa can’t help but look. Niall’s blushing, refusing to look at her, at _anyone_ , even after Ryanne spreads into a slow grin. All of the liquid in Isa’s stomach sours.

“Ah…yeah, I remember now,” Niall is saying, “Donnie at the bar agreed to hang mistletoe for us.”

They all look to find that it’s in the doorway that separates the main room from the room with the bar.

Harry whines, “Aww but that’s not fair for the couples! They already have someone!”

Niall scrapes his hand through his hair. “Honestly, I completely forgot about this one.”

Isa stays frozen in her chair, tries not read into the way Ryanne bumps her shoulder into Niall’s, at the way he shoots her an unreadable look right after. Was she totally misreading his signals at the last bar? Was she making signals up? She can’t fucking figure it out and it’s making her chest ache.

She can’t help but feel a little jealous when Aliza and Dani scrape back from the table and stumble over to the mistletoe hand in hand to make out quick and sloppy. It’s sweet, in a weird sort of way. With a laugh, Aliza buries her face in Dani’s neck.

“All right, assholes,” Dani yells back to them, “We’re officially toast. I think we’re heading home.” She begins to lead them out, but Aliza peels herself away before they can get to the door.

“Wait, wait,” she’s slurring, practically dumping herself in Isa’s lap. Dani’s arms wind tightly around Isa’s shoulders and Isa feels some of the tension she’d been holding in her shoulders melt away. Again, Isa is reminded of how amazing her friends are.

“Are y’gonna be okay?” Dani whispers into Isa’s ear. “You can c-come home with”–Dani hiccups–“with us if y’want.”

Fondness swells in Isa. If Isa is being completely honest with herself, the idea of quietly slipping out with them, maybe heading back to their apartment to cry into Aliza’s shirt, sounds kinda nice. But she knows how Aliza and Dani get when they’re both drunk and randy. They deserve a night to themselves without having to put up with her moping about.

“No, no. I’ll be…” Isa struggles for the word. “It’ll be fine. You guys go.”

Aliza pulls back and Isa can tell she’s fighting the droop in her eyes to study Isa’s face. “I promise,” Isa says, forcing a smile for good measure. She’s not one hundred percent positive Aliza buys it, but it’s enough for her to leave with nothing more than a pursed mouth and a look that clearly says ‘ _tell me if something happens or else_ ’.

But then Liam and Alex dip out not long after and Niall is leaning close to talk to Ryanne so Isa pulls out her phone and does something she’ll probably regret.

It’s a bad idea, undoubtedly, but because her eyes are traitors, they keep stealing glances at Niall and his conversation with Ryanne seems to be getting more intense and when they both look over to the doorway the mistletoe is hung in, that clinches it. Isa decides not to care anymore. She’s disappointed and confused, but she can’t be mad at Ryanne. How could she know? It’s not her fault Niall is frustrating.

Her phone buzzes a second later with a reply that makes her stomach jump.

_Be there soon._

And so she orders a beer and waits at the counter.

This is where Louis finds her five minutes later. “We’ve lost Harry,” he informs her, and she gently smiles as he fills her in on how Harry convinced some cute couple to follow him under the mistletoe and to invite him back to their place.

“I can’t believe that wanker got a threesome out of this mental fucking challenge.”

Isa lifts her pint. “I’ll drink to that.”

“What are we drinking to?” comes from behind her and Isa flinches at the sound of Niall’s voice. She doesn’t see the way his shoulders drop in return.

“Harry’s getting laid,” Louis drawls and Isa punishes herself by meeting Niall’s stare. She can’t decipher the heat she sees there, and frankly she’s tired of trying to. She files it away so she can think about it later. Maybe. If she’s feeling masochistic enough.

“Right.” Niall coughs into his hand. “Uh, Is. Do you wanna…well, what I wanted to ask you was—”

Niall chokes when Harry crashes into him, wrapping a big, drunk-heavy arm around his friend’s back. “Come on, mate,” Harry thunders, “get your girl and get under that mistletoe before you fuck something else up!”

Isa is coincidentally fascinated by the ice at the condensation at the bottom of her beer so she misses the nervous glance Niall throws her way but soon enough Harry, in all of his tremendous wildness, is pushing the both of them towards the doorway.

“Harry, what the…” Isa starts but comes up short when Harry shoves Niall in the doorway at the same time Ryanne passes through from the other direction.

“ _Oof_ –”

“–Shit–”

“–Sorry, I was just coming back from the loo…”

Isa doesn’t say anything. Her stomach has shriveled up into a hard heavy pit, weighing her down and making her feel sick.

Harry scratches his head. “Well…”

Because the universe is conspiring against her, this is exactly when Donnie the bar owner decides to make an appearance. “Ahh! You know what that means, little lovebirds! Pucker up!”

Isa only dares to look briefly, but when she sees that Ryanne is leaning up on her tippy toes and Niall doesn’t move one way or the other, Isa has to turn away.

She doesn’t know how she gets back to the bar, doesn’t know when she downs the rest of her water, doesn’t know why it barely cools the angry, disappointed heat inside of her, but she does know the very second Niall approaches her again. Because it’s that very second, as he’s apprehensively pleading her name, that Zayn walks through the door.

She hops off the stool, greets Zayn with a smile, and drags him over to the mistletoe.

“Hey– _woah_ ,” Zayn says and then he makes a noise of surprise against her lips when she drags his head down to hers. She opens her mouth against him and he only hesitates a little before he’s tasting her tongue. It’s a quick little snog and not that great, but that’s not really the point. She doesn’t even look around to see if Niall has seen.

“Hi,” she says, a bit breathless.

Zayn, to his credit, doesn’t look too rattled. His hair is a bit disorderly, probably from her hands, and she has to admit it’s a great look for him. As is the understanding, almost sad smile he’s wearing. It really is a shame.

“You wanna go somewhere to talk about that?”

Isa sighs. Zayn is too good to be pulled into this mess. She’s already starting to regret her impulse decision.

“Yeah, we better do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiii please don't hate me! :) But if you want to yell at me in the comments I won't be mad. ;)


	10. Blue, Blue, Blue Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Isa,” he says quietly. The bar is suddenly so quiet she can hear the quake in his words. “I have something important to say and I need you–”
> 
> He takes a deep breath.
> 
> “I need you to hear it before you go.”

A chill settles into the marrow of Isa’s bones as she walks beside Zayn. She’s been trying to find the words to explain to him what the hell that kiss was about and Zayn seems to get that because he just walks silently next to her. She feels bad, for so many reasons, but right now it’s mostly because she’s pulled him into a shit storm and she didn’t even give him a fair warning.

She clears her throat. “Listen, Zayn. I–” she tries, getting stuck. Her heavy sigh hangs in the frosty air. It disappears along with whatever she was trying to say.

“Do you wanna go inside somewhere a little warmer?” he says. “I know my thoughts never work when I’m freezing.”

Isa looks over, finds that he’s shivering. “Yeah, oh God. Of course.” There’s a place across the street that she knows is open only because it was the next pub on the list. When they step through the door and make their way down the narrow, creaky staircase they find a seedy little place that Isa would normally think twice about going into, but it hardly matters now because it’s nice and warm and has a place to sit. It’s a tiny little hole of a place, the kind that has regulars. Ten or so of them are scattered around–a few together, a few alone. Other than the soft croon of an Elvis christmas song that is playing, it’s relatively quiet.

It feels very lonely.

Isa and Zayn find seats at the bar and Zayn orders water for them both. Isa drinks half of hers before she feels like she can turn to him.

“I wanna thank you. First of all. I know this all must seem…really fucking weird. So thanks for putting up with it. And me. And sorry.”

Zayn merely shrugs. “Why should you be sorry. This is good.”

Zayn’s gentle smile makes Isa’s stomach twist. The way he’s looking at her is so soft and he’s been so kind and he really doesn’t deserve any of this.

“No,” she finds herself saying. “This is not–” She cuts of with a noise of frustration. Words are just so fucking _hard_ today. “Nothing is good. I’m not good. I just. This isn’t fair, Zayn. I can’t do this. I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now.”

It’s very much like Alice in Wonderland, when Alice falls down the rabbit hole. Isa is floating down and down and down, but when she looks in the mirror, her reflection is floating up. She is drinking out of bottles and eating tiny cakes and is tiny and giant and all she wants to do is cry until she floats. Nothing makes sense.

“Hey, it’s okay,”Zayn says, but Isa barely hears him over the roaring in her ears and the tightness in her throat. The only thing she can register is the way he’s looking at her.

He leans closer.

Isa’s hands go to her hair, making an even bigger mess of her curls. “Listen, Zayn. I need to be honest with you. This isn’t…it’s just not…” She huffs. “This isn’t right. It’s not fair. I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.”

She cuts off when Zayn laughs. It so completely _not_ what she expected and when Zayn spreads into a bright, beautiful smile Isa becomes even more confused.

“You’re funny, Isa.”

“I don’t get it,” she says.

Zayn leans in close enough that she can see exactly how long his eyelashes really are and when she jerks back, he tilts his head.

“Trust me,” he whispers. She can feel his warm breath on her lips and she’ll be damned if it doesn’t stir some sort of something in her gut. So she nods and then Zayn’s lips are on hers, warm and soft and…

Nice?

Like, objectively, he’s a nice kisser. The graze of his beard against her skin is nice and his hand goes into her hair and that’s nice. She lets it happen, even kisses him back, slipping her tongue along the seam of his lips to see if anything else happens. But that’s just it. It just kinda…happens. It’s nice, but it’s missing something.

She breathes a frustrated sort of breath out of her nose, pushes closer to see if maybe she’s just not giving enough effort, but Zayn pulls back. He gives her a tight-lipped smile.

“You may not know what you need, Isa. But I’m pretty sure you know it’s not _that_ ,” he says nodding to reference what just happened.

It takes her a second or two to catch up to his words. Realization washes through her with her heavy sigh. It feels absolutely awful. Zayn pulls his hand out of her hair and pats her shoulder.

Her posture sags. At this point she’s so tired of the mind games, of the normal games. It might just be time for her to stop fighting.

“God, Zayn. I’m so sorry about the drink before and the kiss under the mistletoe. I was just fulfilling the penalty and trying to make someone jealous and honestly I _know_ it’s just so stupid. I know I’ve just led you all around and I know how much mixed signals suck and–”

Zayn waves her off. “It’s good. Promise. I’m just glad I could help you a little.”

“Honestly I just..I’ve been hung up on Niall and I’m pretty sure it’s been so fucking obvious at this point. So the fact that he hasn’t made a move must mean that he’s just not interested, right?” Isa’s mouth is really going now, full stream of consciousness, but it’s the end of the night and she’s never been so tired in her whole dramatic life and it just really feels good to unload.

She’s so focused on lamenting that she doesn’t even notice when the pub challenge party bumbles down the stairs, doesn’t even notice how Niall’s eyes find her back right away, doesn’t notice that he’s close enough to hear her, and certainly doesn’t notice when Zayn’s eyes flick over her shoulder to lock eyes with him, just like before.

However, unlike before, Niall’s eyes are wide and his mouth hanging open. Isa buries her head in her arms, still none-the-wiser, and the corner of Zayn’s mouth ticks up. Niall’s gaze turns soft when he studies Isa and Zayn wonders if he’s even aware how blatantly his affection is written on his face.

When Niall finally looks up, Zayn can see a tangible change. There is a sense of purpose to the set of his shoulders, a glint of determination in the blue of his eyes. They share a solemn nod of understanding. Niall holds up a finger and disappears.

It’s almost comical how it’s just after he disappears around the corner that Isa sits up.

“I think,” she breathes, “that I’m calling it. Niall and I will never happen. And it’s time for me to just move on.”

Zayn slips off of the stool. “I don’t think you should count yourself out quite yet.”

Isa blows air through her lips. “Thanks, Zayn. Sorry again about tonight.”

“That’s alright. You have a good night.”

Zayn is gone less than a minute when Louis slides onto his vacated barstool, bumping his shoulder against hers. Isa sends him a watery smile, lets him wrap his arm around her, and rests her head on his shoulder.

“You okay, love?”

“Yeah, no. I’m gonna go home, I think.”

“I get that.” Louis squeezes and her heart warms. “Want me to call you a cab?” he asks.

Isa sighs for what feels like the millionth time that night. “That would be amazing, thanks.”

If she’s learned anything from this disastrous night, it’s exactly how awesome her friends really are.

She’s almost halfway up the stairs when she hears someone shout her name across the bar.

“ISA!”

She turns and freezes. There aren’t many people in the bar, but she’s sure every single pair of eyes is trained on Niall. More specifically, Niall standing atop the bar. His eyes are glued to her.

“Isa, wait,” Niall says. He swallows, eyes darting around now as if he’s only just realized how much he’s making a spectacle of himself. His cheeks are ruddy and his hands are shaking at his sides. Isa doesn’t know what to make of it all.

“Isa,” he says quietly. The bar is suddenly so quiet she can hear the quake in his words. “I have something important to say and I need you–”

He takes a deep breath.

“I need you to hear it before you go.”


	11. Happiness and Cheer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Speaking of,” Louis pipes in, mischief obvious in the tilt of his grin, “haven’t you got somewhere to be? Because if you two are out, that means I win the 12 Pubs of Christmas, right?”
> 
> Niall pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lou…”
> 
> “Who said we were giving up?” Isa grins at both boys. “I’m just getting started.”

When Isa was twelve, she had the lead solo in her school’s holiday choir concert. But when it was time for her to sing and she made her way to the microphone, she tripped and fell flat on her face. Isa will never forget how it felt to have an entire auditorium of people staring right at her.

That’s how she feels now.

The attention of everyone in the bar has shifted to her and although she’s not picking herself up off the floor this time, she’s just as unprepared for what to do next as she was back then.

There’s a cough somewhere behind her and it brings her back, back to Niall who is still standing on top of the fucking bar top.

“Niall, what are you doing. Get down from there.”

Niall’s mouth twists. “Not until you listen, Is.”

Isa responds with a dry laugh. She turns, her hands in her hair. “I cannot believe,” she mutters to herself. “Niall, get down you look like an ass.”

Isa climbs another step, fully intending to leave.

“I am!”

Isa freezes, fingers pale with how tight she’s gripping onto the bannister.

“Isa, I’ve been”—he shoves his hands through his hair—“I’ve been trying to tell you for so long. I thought I’d been so clear—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Isa whirls around, flies down the steps and towards Niall. She’s had enough, she’s not holding back anymore. “Niall you’re the worst tease I’ve ever encountered. You need to sort yourself out because you say stuff like, like _that_!” She gestures at him wildly. “But the signs you’re sending are all over the fucking place and I don’t know what to think! It’s not fucking fair!”

“What?” he says, his brow furrowing. Isa hates that he looks adorable, even now, when she’s seething. “What signs?”

Isa rolls her eyes. She wants to strangle him. “I straddle you and you run away and ignore me,” she says.

Niall grows shifty, looking around at all the people who are watching them like an episode of _EastEnders_. His voice is soft. “Isa…maybe we should go somewhere else.”

“No. Niall. You wanted to do this. We’re doing it. This is happening, here right in front of all these people. Maybe they can help me show you what an asshole you’ve been.” Isa turns to the closest person, a grisly old man who looks like he hasn’t showered since last Christmas. “You, sir. Maybe you can help me. You see earlier tonight, Niall and myself go to this club, right? We grind on each other, as you do, have a _moment_ ”—she turns to glare at Niall—“and then he goes and kisses another girl!”

The man, bless him, turns to Niall with a glare of his own. He slams his pint against the bar top and begins to boo. Slowly others begin to join in until it’s almost everyone there. Isa can hardly believe it. When she looks around, even Louis is booing.

Niall at least has the decency to look ashamed. “Okay, okay, I deserve that,” he says, holding his hands up in surrender. “But, wait. You were always my endgame, Isa. I was just waiting for you.”

“I’m not a game, Niall! Don’t be disgusting!”

“That’s not what I–“

“And waiting? For what?” Isa charges towards the bar, tipping her head back to scream at him. She’s not even trying to regulate her voice now. “I’ve been crazy about you for…for years, Niall! What was there to wait for?! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“Waiting until I was enough for you!”

The atmosphere, so charged and electric from their fight, suddenly stagnates. All sound and movement has ceased as everything else seems to fall away. It’s like even her heartbeat has stopped.

Niall kneels down on the bar, close enough that he can tuck her hair behind her ear. His next words are soft and tortured. “Until I wasn’t so petrified that I was gonna fuck it all up before it really began.”

Isa’s stomach drops. She doesn’t want to soften, she wants to spit and tear and scream just out of spite. But as she looks into his eyes and sees the regret and desperation building in his unshed tears, she feels it happening. Her anger begins to melt away, her resentment with it. It doesn’t excuse what he did by any means, but maybe this isn’t the way to make him pay for it.

Isa sighs. “Well. Now _that’s_ the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Niall’s breathe escapes in one giant exhale, as if he’d been holding it in. “Is.”

“You really are an ass, you know. We could have been together this whole time. Now for the last time, get down from there so I can kiss you.”

It takes Niall a moment to catch up, just sitting there staring at Isa with his mouth wide open. But when his brain finally catches up, he clambers off the bar with little grace, and suddenly he’s _so close_.

Isa’s heart shudders backs to life, practically pounding out of her chest as Niall fills all the space around her. He licks his lips, swallows hard, and then breathes out a laugh like he does when he’s nervous. “Got any mistletoe?” he says, and Isa can’t help but smile just a little.

“God, Niall. You’re such a cheeseball,” Isa laughs before pulling him down for a kiss. It’s not the greatest because they’re both smiling too much, but he wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her in tighter so it doesn’t even matter.

And if that wasn’t perfect enough, everyone in the bar starts to cheer.

“Oh my god,” she says into his mouth and Niall laughs, steals another kiss and then just one more like he can’t help it. “Niall.”

“Yeah, sorry. I, uh…” His eyes are dazed and his mouth is swollen and beautiful and Isa really wants to drag him away. The way his arm tightens around her tells her he’s feeling the same way. The patrons in the bar have a renewed energy as they return to their own parties. It’s just enough activity that they could probably slip away.

Unfortunately, it’s that very moment that Louis comes over.

“Oi, _oi_! You both got the challenge!”

Niall levels his mate with a look that could kill. Isa laughs, smooths a hand over the knot in his jaw, and raises a brow at Louis.

“You know!” He says, waving the challenge card in front of their faces. He brings a fist up to his mouth, clears his throat with all the theatrics he can muster.

“ **Pub #11:** You must get the whole pub to cheer. _Penalty_ ”—Louis flings the card over his shoulder with a wicked grin—“well, I guess the penalty doesn’t really matter then, does it?”

“Did you just make that up?” Isa asks. _It feels so good to smile_ , she can’t help thinking.

“No,” Niall says, pulling away to slap and arm around Louis’ shoulders. “That was totally on the card.”

Niall’s bottom lip is between his teeth and his eyes are bright. Isa narrows her eyes. She smoothes a hand across his stomach, around to his back, down. His smug grin sums when she snags the card he kept there.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, “it wasn’t, but how cool would that have been?”

Isa smacks his arm. “Dickhead.”

“Speaking of,” Louis pipes in, mischief obvious in the tilt of his grin, “haven’t you got somewhere to be? Because if you two are out, that means I win the 12 Pubs of Christmas, right?”

Niall pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lou…”

“Who said we were giving up?” Isa grins at both boys. “I’m just getting started.”

Niall’s grin is slow and sweet and Isa can’t pull her eyes away from it. She can’t wait to spend the rest of the night with it.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Louis groans, “I can’t. If you guys are gonna be like this, I’m out. You win.”

Niall laughs, pulls Isa in once more. “Already did, mate.”

“Gross,” Isa hears Louis say before Niall kisses her again.

She pulls back just as it grows hotter, smiles when Niall tries to chase her mouth.

“I’ve got a bar in mind. You wanna finish this out with me?”


	12. A Gift Real Special

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Niall?”
> 
> He hums under her, the best sound in the world.
> 
> “You failed your last challenge.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your E rating. If that's not your thing you can stop reading after "Her breath catches and her heart is pounding." The rest of the chapter is general frick frack.

Niall laughs when they make it to the front of the building.

It’s only a ten minute walk, and although it gave them time to cool off, it’s just enough time for the butterflies in Isa’s stomach to swarm and multiply until she feels like she’s gonna jump out of her skin. Especially when Niall starts talking.

“I’m not going to lie, this isn’t where I saw tonight going.” The smile he sends her way is breathtaking. “But I’m definitely not complaining.”

Isa’s slips into a slow, wide smile and Niall’s eyes track it. “Me too.”

Half a block more of jittery, exciting silence and the back of Niall’s hand brushes hers. It’s almost so perfect.

Almost.

“It’s just…” Isa bites her lip. She hesitates, not wanting to spoil the mood but needing desperately to get answers. “I have to ask about Ryanne.”

She steals a peek at him, fully expecting guilt or some form of discomfort all over his face but only finding relief.

“Okay, I’m glad I get to clear this up. When we were under the mistletoe, I know you looked away because I watched you do it. So you missed when she kissed my cheek and told me that I was crazy for not going after you.”

Isa’s mind is blank. Her whole body is blank. She just feels sort of numb. Could it be true? Could she have misinterpreted _everything_?

“And before, when she and I went off to talk? We talked about the way we left things. She apologized for hurting me. And then she told me about how happy she is now.” Niall licks his lips. “With her girlfriend.”

“She—Oh.”

“Yeah. And I told her how happy I am for her”—now his grin grows brilliant—“and about this amazing girl I’m crazy for. She’s smart and beautiful and keeps me on my toes. And when she speaks Spanish I swear to God it’s the hottest thing on the planet…”

Everything comes rushing back, all the feelings of fondness and warmth and even exasperation. Her mind is whirling, rethinking, sifting through her hazy memories through this new lens. Like she’s gone through this whole evening as a crooked frame and in only a moment, Niall’s gone and straightened it out. So she does the only thing that makes sense and pulls him down for a kiss.

It’s hard and Niall’s nose is freezing but it’s a promise and leaves them both smiling when they pull apart.

“God, we’ve been idiots, haven’t we?”

“The biggest,” Niall laughs.

They have a lot to talk about, even still, but the way Niall is looking at her all fond and soft and _open,_ the fact that they’re even talking about it instead of just jumping each other makes Isa believe that they can do it. They can make it. She slips her hand into his, her body warming when he immediately squeezes her fingers.

“Wanna go make up for it?”

He leans down to kiss her again and honestly, she could get used to this. “Lead the way,” he says and the darkness she finds in his eyes makes her pull him along just a little bit faster.

So when they arrive to the front of her building, he laughs, but he still lets her pull him into the lift.

Slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her right against his chest, Niall noses at her temple. “This doesn’t count, you know. This isn’t a pub.”

Isa’s starting to warm up, her body becoming electric wherever they’re in contact. “Sure it does. You’ll see.”

Niall has just moved his mouth to her neck when the doors slide open. Isa nearly gives him whiplash with how fast she pulls him along. It takes a while to finally open her front door once Niall presses up behind her, his hands running over her hair, over the nape of her neck. Down her shoulders and around her waist. It made her own hands jittery, almost as if they moved too fast for her brain to keep up.

But she finally gets the bloody key in the lock and pulls him through the door. She wants to do something terribly cliché and straight out of a rom-com like snog him against the front door but she restrains herself.

Until the end of the hallway anyway.

He makes the most delicious sound pressed up against the wall, right next to the horrible painting her mum got her for her birthday last year.

“Fuck, Is.” His words are hot and wet against her skin. If she doesn’t pump the brakes fast she just might burn up.

“Ni,” she breathes, deliberately slowing down their kiss. She has to pull his hands off of her body before she forgets how to breathe. “Niall, I—”

Finally separating her body from his feels immediately wrong. Like there is some tangible magnetic yearning for contact and she wants so desperately to give into it. To give her body exactly what it’s calling out for.

But she wants this to last. And if it makes him a little desperate in the process…well, that might not be too bad either.

“Let’s…slow it down.”

“Slow?” he asks, and she can’t help giggle. His hair is a disaster and his eyes are hazy. Quite frankly, he looks almost as if he’s just woken up from one of those accidental 6 hour afternoon naps where you wake up and don’t even know what year it is anymore. It’s adorable and she just might—

“We need to finish the challenge,” she says before she admits something too big. She turns toward the kitchen, leaving Niall gaping behind her. Luckily, it only takes him a moment or two to catch up.

“I’m telling you, this doesn’t count,” he says, leaning onto the breakfast bar.

“Ah,” she returns, smoothing her palm over the cheap formica. “But I’ve got a bartop”—she produces two glasses—“and I can serve you booze. Why shouldn’t this count as a pub, then?”

Niall smiles over at her like she’s the sun in the sky. “You’ve proved me wrong, yet again.”

“One of these days you’ll learn.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves her off. “What are you having then?”

She grins.

“A short glass of Irish.” She lets her eyes trail over his strong jaw, his wide chest, down and down. “And make it dirty.”

“Hey, who you callin short?” he teases, but it’s impossible to miss the breathlessness behind his words. He darts around to grab her around the middle, laughing as she shrieks, and she melts into his kiss once more. This one’s sweet at first, but then that lick of heat travels up her spine and she’s pulling him until his hips pin her against the counter.

“So much for slow, then.” His voice is low and rough and he’s grinding his hips into hers so she decides she couldn’t care less about the fucking challenge.

“Fuck slow.” Her hands scramble to remove her shirt.

He grins into her mouth. “That can be arranged.”

Her breath catches and her heart is pounding.

He takes the opportunity to press kisses down her body, paying close attention to the delicate tenderness of her collarbones, the gentle swell of her breasts, and the softness of her stomach, finally dropping to his knees. If she wasn’t already losing her mind to the feel of his teeth on her hip, she’d wonder how he manages to get her trousers and her knickers off so quickly, how he manages to do it looking so sinful.

“God, Isa. You’re so fucking sweet. Gonna show you just how sweet you are.” He nuzzles the inside of her thigh and she tries to respond but all that comes out of her mouth is a whine. “Shit, Is, you’re so wet. So wet for me, huh?“

He runs a finger down her folds as he speaks, teasing her entrance. "My god, you’re magnificent,” he says and then his finger pushes inside her. It’s fucking amazing, especially when he adds another finger and then another, his thumb working on her clit the entire time. Her sigh overtakes her whole body when he finally gets his tongue on her, his hot breath washing over her core and making her breath shaky. Her whines turn to moans as he closes his mouth around her, which seems only to spur him on.

“Yeah?” he whispers, and she makes a noise of frustration at his interruption. Her hands grab for him, willing his mouth to get back to work.

“Niall…”

She feels his stubble against her thighs, only making her more desperate.

“Tell me what you need, Is.”

She peers down at him, on his knees there in front of her wearing the most delicious grin in the universe, and all she can seem to think about is how crazy she is for this man. Her throat grows tight and it takes great effort to swallow, but she does it and shakes her head for good measure. Smack dab in the middle of kitchen head is _definitely_ not the right time for professions of capital letter feelings.

Isa takes a deep breath and looks him right in the eye. “I want to come on your tongue and on your fingers.”

Niall’s face grows dark, and his moan is so deep and rough it’s almost a growl as he lifts her leg and begins work in earnest. She’s building and building, getting closer to the precipice, chasing the edge. It’s almost unbearable and then finally when Niall moans her name, she falls off of the knife’s edge. And all she knows is overwhelming pleasure and heaviness and her heartbeat in every part of her body. Her legs buckle and he’s there to catch her, licking her through her orgasm and catching his breath against the softness of her stomach.

“Fuck, Niall.”

“Yeah, well I’ll give ya two more where that came from.”

She laughs as much as she can at this point in time, breathless and tingly still. “Bold statement. You sure you’re up to it?”

He grins. “I never say no to a challenge.”

Isa giggles when he jumps up to press fat, messy kisses to her chin, her cheeks, her forehead, everywhere he can reach. His mouth, all swollen and pink from their kisses and eating her out, is way too tempting to ignore so she kisses it as soon as she can. It gives her a small thrill to taste herself on his tongue. It doesn’t take long until he returns to her neck, nibbling on a tender spot. She’ll have to chastise him for it later when she’s less distracted. It’s bound to leave a mark.

“Bed,” she’s whispering into his hair, the sensation of his teeth making it hard for her to effectively project and every bone in her body turns gelatinous, her head thunking back onto the cabinet behind her. The quick sting provides a moment of clarity so that she can suck in a huge breath. “Ni, bed!”

Niall hoists her up and Isa makes an embarrassing noise that has them both giggling as they bump their way through her flat to her bedroom. He trips over her discarded clothes, and nearly runs to the bedroom. Isa squeezes her legs tighter around his hips, curling down to press wet, open-mouthed kisses along his jaw like she’s wanted to all night. She doesn’t know if she’s ever felt this happy.

He takes a moment once he gets into the bedroom, standing right next to the bed with her in his arms. It’s a moment of stillness, charged and big and quiet, but it allows them both to just take a moment to just connect. She’s hardly even realized she’s smiling until Niall slowly leans forward to kiss her dimple. She leans forward to gently press her lips to the cleft in his chin.

“Christ, Is. You’re fucking incredible,” he whispers. His eyes are wide, something swirling there that Isa can’t register.

But then he almost shakes his head, smacks a kiss to her mouth, and dumps her onto the bed. She nearly bounces off, but it’s okay because he’s right there a second later, pushing her onto her back and sliding on top of her. Their mouths are hungry when they meet.

“Mmkay,” she starts, grabbing at his clothes. “Off, off!”

Isa can’t decide where to settle her hands once his shirt comes off. She becomes fascinated by the sinew of his arms, the freckles she’s only seen once before at a summer barbecue, at the slim cut of his waist, the way his stomach tenses and trembles when her fingers tease past his belly button. He’s hard,she can feel it pressed against her core and she starts to ache with need.

“Niall, more.” There is no more teasing in her deliberate tug at the elastic of his briefs.

“Yeah, _fuck_ , let me just um…” Niall pulls back and then his knee slips off the bed and he’s gone.

Isa’s up in a second, leaning over the edge of the bed to find Niall flat on his ass. “Oh my god, Niall! Are you okay?”

His groan is mostly a laugh. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

Isa hauls him up. Her hand running over him, checking for injuries. She’s trying very, very hard to bite back her laughter. “I can’t”—she fails, a snort sneaking through—“I can’t believe that just happened.”

“Way to kill the mood, eh?” Niall says, massaging his tailbone.

“Aww, _cariño_ , want me to kiss it better?”

“Wouldn’t mind,” he’s crooning with a smile, sliding closer again.

They rush to shed the remainder of their clothes. It’s all clinking teeth and hot, fast kisses. Isa peels one hand out of Niall’s so that she can peel off his briefs and finally wrap it around him. The noise he makes is something she’ll never be able to forget and it makes her feel so big and powerful and amazing. It’s a miracle she doesn’t black out right then.

Niall’s cursing as she works him, and she swallows each and every oath down, hungry for more evidence of how she’s making him feel. But then his fingers find her clit and her stomach bottoms out in the best way possible. They work each other over until she melts once more in blissed out ecstasy, shaking under Niall’s body as he peppers kisses and low praises across her forehead and jaw and mouth.

She surges up, reaching out for him, but Niall has other ideas. Wrapping an arm around her back, he slowly lowers her back to the bed, wraps his hands around her wrists and flattens over her, her hands above her head. He can’t stop kissing her either, she’s noticed. He’s surrounding her, the delicious weight of his body overwhelming all of her senses and making her feel blissfully grounded to this moment. He’s perfect and she feels perfect and everything is _so perfect_. Exactly what she wants.

“Niall, oh my god, I need you to fuck me. Please.”

She can feel Niall still above her, sucking in a breath only millimetres from her neck, the space between them humming. For a torturous second, Isa thinks she’s spoiled the moment. But then he’s sliding up to stare down at her with a hungry intensity and she can feel his heartbeat thundering in his chest right against her own. And then his hands squeeze once around her wrists before loosening and slipping into her own. With poignant intention, he slowly intertwines his fingers with hers, squeezing again before his head dips down. Niall kisses her deep and firm and unrushed, and the sudden change in pace has this otherworldly way of making it feel like the world is slowing down on its axis. Like the stardust that is dancing through the beams of moonlight pause and the hands on the Spice Girls clock on the wall move twice as slow. She feels suspended in a perfect fairytale moment and she’s so happy that she isn’t even annoyed at how cliché it is.

“Is, I’ve wanted this for so long.” Niall’s voice is hushed, as if he’s afraid that if his voice is too loud it’ll pop whatever bubble they’ve just built up.

She can’t quite believe her luck, she thinks at first. But then she looks into Niall’s eyes and sees the awe there and realizes that it isn’t luck at all. They’re finally just coming together at the right time. It’s their time. Fate, destiny, all the fucking sappy words in the world float through Isa’s head and she nearly laughs. She doesn’t quite know if that’s what it is, but it’s damn near close and she’ll take what she can get.

“Me too.” Isa raises her head to capture his mouth, stealing one last slow kiss until they’re breathless from it. And then she very deliberately keens her hips up into his and it’s like all the seconds they stole when time slowed down rush back.

So she smiles and squeezes the hand that’s still tangled in his before pushing up and flipping them over. She takes exactly what she can get.

When she finally sinks down onto him the sounds that slips from his mouth is raw and fucked and it goes directly to the fire burning in her stomach. She braces herself on his chest, revelling in the stretch, already half out of her mind at how good it feels to be so full.

He waits, eyes roving hungrily over her as she gets used to him. His grip on her hips is tense and hard, but she doesn’t mind it. Actually kinda likes it, in fact. It’s a tangible reminder how hard he’s working to keep himself controlled. How he’s taking the time to make sure she is taken care of. She loves that power.

It doesn’t take long for Isa to grow restless, wanting more and moving her hips up to get it. She slides down until they’re chest to chest, letting him get his legs up so he can rock into her. She can feel the smile he presses into her neck and it spreads a warmth all through her body. One that is far softer and gentler than the fire in her stomach.

Niall’s rhythm picks up and soon enough they are both slick with sweat and Isa can’t help the moans he pulls out of her. He flips them over so he has a little more control over his thrusts. She cannot get enough of him, wanting to ask for more, more, _more_ , but every time she opens her mouth to ask for it, he changes the angle, hitting a new, electrifying spot deep inside her, and her breath is stolen away. Grunts of his own begin to wash over her chest and suddenly he’s coming. She clings to him and lets him ride it out, loves the way he collapses on her when he’s done.

When he rolls off, Isa immediately misses his warmth and wants to chase it. When she finds he’s actually getting out of bed, her heart sinks a little. She collapses back against her pillow, shoves her hand in her hair, and stares at the ceiling.

She’s heavy and sated and she thought Niall was too. He seemed to have enjoyed himself. But she’s been wrong about him before.

She tells herself she’s not going to go after him. She tells herself she’s just going to go to sleep, she’s not going to read too much into it, and hopefully her hangover isn’t too bad in the morning.

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

And then Niall comes back in. She sits up quickly, a little confused but mostly curious. And there he is, all lean muscle and chest hair and bed head and he’s walking back towards the bed in nothing but a satisfied little grin.

“Lay back, love,” he says and his voice is as soft as he looks. He holds up a towel. “Just wanna clean you up.”

“Oh.”

He sits on the bed, lifting an eyebrow. Isa can feel the unsaid question in his gaze.

“I, um…” She looks away, feeling like a moron. “I thought you were leaving.”

Niall stares at her for a long moment, expression unreadable. And then suddenly he chuckles.

Her immediate impulse is petulance. Why is he laughing at her? But then he reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear, lets his hand cup her jaw.

“Isa, I’ve spent way too long pretending that I don’t want to spend every minute possible with you. But it’s game over now.” He leans forward, kisses her on the mouth and then right between her brows. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now.”

Isa is grinning so hard her face might split.

She lets him clean her up, swallows the Paracetamol and glass of water he gives her, and curls up into his side. He seems to actually love fussing over her which is something she could _definitely_ get used to.

She’s just about to drift off to sleep when a thought occurs to her.

“Hey, Niall?”

He hums under her, the best sound in the world.

“You failed your last challenge.”

“Huh?” he says, more of a grunt.

Isa tangles her leg in his, rests her chin on his chest. “I only came twice.”

Niall frowns and from where she’s at, she can’t help smile at his grumpy little pout.

“Don’t worry, the penalty I have in mind isn’t that bad.” She pushes herself up to kiss his chin. “Tomorrow, though. We should get sleep.”


	13. So Take Off The Top

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now,” Niall says, “I’m told that I have a penalty to perform and I’m anxious to hear what it is.”

When Isa wakes up the bed is empty. She stretches, the delicious ache in her muscles are the best reminder that last night wasn’t a dream.

The sheets are still warm when she rolls out of her stretch and the best part is that they smell like him. She buries her smile into the pillow.

“Ah!” Niall says, strolling back into the room holding two mugs. Unfortunately, he’s put on his briefs. “Damn, you’re up. Did I wake you?”

Isa’s smile grows. His morning voice is heavenly. “No, you didn’t wake me. Is…did you make tea?”

“Yeah. I was hoping to surprise you.” He shrugs.

Isa accepts the mug, taking a deep inhale of the heavenly smell. She looks up in bewilderment after her first sip. “This is amazing how did you know how I take it?”

Niall grin turns wicked. “Well…”

“Oh god, Niall, you know what I mean,” she says after she thinks about her words.

He leans forward with a laugh, kisses her quick. “Yeah. Two sugars and a splash of milk. I paid attention, Isa.”

This is something else she’s going to have to get used to. She’s lived so long with the assumption that she was just in the periphery of Niall’s life. But more and more she’s discovering that he saw a lot more than she thought. It doesn’t even seem real.

“Now,” Niall says, snapping her back, “I’m told that I have a penalty to perform and I’m anxious to hear what it is.”

Isa sips her tea and smiles. “You have to sing a Christmas song in nothing but a Santa hat.”

The great part is that he does just that—an interesting half-striptease version of _Dick in a Box_ that has her in fits. He climbs on top of her and they trade slow kisses and giggles. Their tea grows cold as he finally delivers the last of his challenge.

Isa is beginning to doze in post-coital bliss when her phone goes off with a series of buzzes against the nightstand. She groans, burrowing deeper into Niall’s side and pretends like she doesn’t hear it. Eventually it stops and she thinks that’s the end of it until it starts up _again_ a few seconds later, eventually vibrating right off the nightstand and clattering onto the floor.

“Fuck,” she hisss. She feels more than hears Niall chuckle at her. He leans over and Isa immediately hates whoever was calling.

“Isa, Aliza is calling you.

“Tell her to fuck off!” It’s too bright and it’s too early. She says at much as she shoves her face into the pillow.

“I’m not doing that and it’s already noon.” Niall pulls the blanket back from her head, and presses her stupid fucking phone into her hand. “Here, find out what she wants.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she grumbles to Niall, then into the phone, “What the fuck do you want?”

“Aww, guys, Isa thinks I’m cute!” Isa jerks her phone away, squinting at the brightness of her screen. She puts it on speaker so she can close her eyes and tuck into Niall again.

“Fuck, Aliza, how are you so perky right now? You were half dead last night.”

“I’m blessed. But never mind that, where are you right now? We can’t get a hold of Niall either.”

Niall’s chuckle turns into a hiss when Isa pinches his hip.

“I, uh…what? What do you mean where am I?” I’m in my bed where I belong for the foreseeable forever. Where are _you_?”

“Isa, we’re at The Cracked Egg. Where everyone else is. Remember we said we were gonna do brunch?”

Isa rubs her head. “Shit, Al. I completely forgot. Had, uh…a lot on my mind.”

“Whatever just get here. Do you know where is? His phone is going to voicemail.”

Isa shifts, looking up at Niall from where she rests comfortably on his chest. He shrugs and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let him know.”

“‘Kay, thanks. See you in ten!”

After Aliza hangs up, it takes Niall a while to coax her out of bed and the only reason he’s even able to manage it is because he steals the entire comforter and promises to buy her waffles.

They show up to together and she’s expecting everyone to pounce immediately, but strangely enough there is practically no reaction. They aren’t even giving them a hard time for being over an hour late. She narrows her eyes at all of them. This can’t be good.

Niall leans close to whisper in her ear before he goes to the counter to order for them. His hand brushing along her lower back is the last of him that leaves. Isa watches him go, partly because she doesn’t want to face the barrage of questions she _knows_ is coming alone, but mostly to check out his ass.

But she can’t just stand there ogling her…is he her boyfriend? She doesn’t even know…

Regardless, she can’t just stand there like an idiot so Isa slips into her chair with a sigh and braces herself.

Always impulsive and excitable, Harry is the first to break the awkward silence. His tone is so suggestive, Isa’s cheek are immediately burning. “So, how was your night, Isa?”

She clears her throat. “It was good.”

“Oh yeah?” It’s Louis this time, lifting one eyebrow at her. “I bet you probably had the best night of all of us.”

“Mine was horrid,” Dani says. “I spent all night breathing fire into the toilet. And this one was way drunker than me. How is that fair!”

“Gross,” Isa says, just as Niall comes back. Maybe they haven’t even noticed? Maybe they won’t even mention it.

But then Niall is sliding into the seat next to her, plants a fast, easy kiss on her lips, and starts talking some nonsense about how she has to take it easy on the syrup. And now everyone is staring. And silent.

“I KNEW IT!”

“–I _told_ you all!”

“–What the fuck? I thought it was another of your booze dreams!”

“–Harry, you owe me a tenner.”

Harry digs in his pocket. “I’m not even mad about it honestly, it’s about fucking time.”

Aliza hold up her mimosa. “It’s a fucking Christmas miracle everyone! _Mazel Tov_!”

Isa doesn’t even know how to respond. Her friends are toasting to her sex life and then talking over each other in normal conversation one second later.

She turns to Niall to see if he can make any sense out of it and she finds that he’s already looking down at her. Warm sunlight shines off of his bed head, just as soft as his gentle smile. He’s so beautiful like this, when everything is soft. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Isa registers that he always looks like this when his entire attention is centered on her.

“Merry Christmas, Is,” he says, kissing her once more.

Isa runs a hand through his hair, unsatisfied with just one kiss and completely heedless to what anyone else might think.

“Merry Christmas, Niall.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [@imsrybitw](https://imsrybitw.tumblr.com/)!


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